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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 20 - ao3 -

“Your brother has been acting strange,” Lan Yueheng said, his voice drifting in through the open door.

He was crouched down in the dirt, happily gathering a small harvest from the plants he’d grown outside Lan Qiren’s window. Most of the materials he used for his alchemy experiments he obtained from the specialized fields in the Cloud Recesses, but there were some variants that the sect members in charge of those fields disfavored on account of certain pharmacological side effects associated with them. Lan Yueheng had prevailed on his friendship with Lan Qiren to beg, at some considerable length, that he be allowed to grow those variants in the area near Lan Qiren’s rooms – he’d argued that no one would ever think to check there on account of Lan Qiren’s rule-abiding reputation.

Lan Qiren had pointed out that there were no actual rules against growing those plants - they were only disfavored, not disallowed - thereby rendering the entire issue with people checking for it moot, but Lan Yueheng had insisted and eventually he’d yielded.

Let Lan Yueheng grow his nightmare plants wherever he liked. What did he care? He wasn’t using that patch of land for anything in particular, and it was nice to have a reason to see Lan Yueheng on a regular basis.

“Strange how?” Lan Qiren asked, finishing off the final stroke of a painting. He didn’t like it, but then again, he never liked any of the paintings he did for himself – they were too stiff and unfeeling, in his view, lacking spirit and movement no matter what he tried. His favorite painting was still the antique Wen Ruohan had left on his wall all that time ago, a lively little landscape with burnt edges suggesting that it had been hastily recovered from a fire at some point; he’d never replaced any of the things his sworn brother had gotten for him.

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Just strange,” Lan Yueheng said. “I don’t know how many people have noticed yet, him being pretty standoffish and above-it-all at the best of times, but it’s not the usual sort of thing for him.”

Lan Yueheng was like Lan Qiren; they were good at noticing patterns, however bad they were at figuring out the meanings behind it. If Lan Yueheng said it wasn’t normal, it probably wasn’t.

Lan Qiren rubbed at his forehead, suppressing the desire to go figure out the problem right away. “I don’t think I can help,” he said instead. “He doesn’t like to see me, remember?”

“He’s important to the sect,” Lan Yueheng said peaceably, and Lan Qiren loved him all over again for not saying he’s still your brother. “You might not like him, but you like the sect. So you have to help figure it out.”

Lan Qiren did not like it when Lan Yueheng was right about things. It gave him a strange itchy feeling of dissatisfaction.

“Someone else could figure it out,” he argued. “He’s sect leader now, remember? His well-being is everyone’s responsibility.”

“But you’re the one who’s good at figuring out weird stuff.”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren grumbled, but he still put away his things and went to see his brother – who wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Any of the places he was supposed to be.

That was strange.

Lan Qiren’s brother was talented and powerful, skilled and meticulous; he was too proud of his status and accomplishments to shirk work. Whatever had drawn him away must have been very compelling indeed – or so Lan Qiren thought.

He wasn’t expecting, when he finally tracked down his brother through a tracker spell utilized on an old comb, to find him walking through the forest alongside a young woman, sword at his side as if he were night-hunting.

“I am night-hunting,” he said when Lan Qiren asked him. “I’m escorting Mistress He.”

Lan Qiren turned to look at the girl.

She smiled at him in a perfunctory sort of fashion. She was beautiful in a way that reminded Lan Qiren a little of Cangse Sanren, though her looks were very different – more refined and elegant, more delicate and less down-to-earth, thoroughly lacking the vaguely unsettling undertones so characteristic of Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, but no less lovely in her own way.

“Qingheng-jun was just showing me the lay of the land,” she said coolly. “If you need him to return, of course, I won’t keep him.”

“There’s nothing else I need to do,” he said at once, which was such a blatant lie that Lan Qiren’s jaw dropped.

The girl glanced over at him and looked amused, saluting briefly: “He Kexin, a rogue cultivator,” she introduced herself. She shouldn’t have needed to; per etiquette, Lan Qiren’s brother should have introduced them, but he was clearly too far into his own world to care for such niceties. “And you are…?”

“Gusu Lan sect’s Lan Qiren,” Lan Qiren said on automatic, returning the salute. “I’m – his brother.”

“Oh?” she said. “In that case, you must have plenty to talk about. Anyway, there doesn’t seem to be much night-hunting here, so I’ll be leaving.”

Lan Qiren’s brother saluted deeply. “I hope to see you again soon, Mistress He.” His voice was gentler than Lan Qiren had ever heard it.

She waved a careless hand in half-hearted agreement as she went, but Lan Qiren’s brother stared after her departing figure until she was out of sight. Only when she was fully gone did he turn away, and when he did, he turned only in order to glare at Lan Qiren.

“Why did you interrupt us?” he asked, and his voice had gone back to its usual cold remove. “We were finally spending some time together alone, without those friends of hers crowding in and bothering us.”

Lan Qiren glanced in the direction that He Kexin had gone. “I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” he said hesitantly. “If you’re alone or with her friends, I mean. I don’t think – I don’t think that she likes you all that much.”

Lan Qiren had no natural social skills, not like his brother, who was charming enough to draw most people in despite or perhaps because of his cool and distant demeanor, but in sheer self-defense he had worked very hard to categorize and identify a variety of unspoken signals utilized by people in order to try to figure out logically what he couldn’t do intuitively. While he was still terrible at identifying indications of positive interest of any sort, as Cangse Sanren was always teasing him, he had gotten much better at detecting negative signs that indicated disinterest, indifference, or boredom.

“She likes me well enough,” his brother said, his tone oddly defensive. “She’s reserved, that’s all – you really can’t tell who she secretly likes or doesn’t. She’s a brilliant cultivator, sharp as a blade and clever as anything; it’s no wonder that she’s kind to others in equal measure as well…”

“But -”

“She makes me feel free,” his brother said, cutting him off. “She’s just - she’s smart and she’s talented and she’s fearless, unrestrained and untamed. There’s nothing weighing her down or holding her back. She bears no expectations and no pressure, and nothing has ever forced her, molded her development in this way or that; she lives her life just drifting on the breeze, complete untethered, and when I’m with her I feel the same, and I’ve never felt that way…”

He trailed off, eyes oddly dreamy, and then suddenly he seemed to come back to himself and remember to whom he was speaking. “Anyway, what do you know about women, Qiren? You’re as frigid as an icicle hanging in the window or a mountain lake in midwinter.”

Lan Qiren acknowledged the point, but he didn’t see its relevance. “If she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you,” he pointed out. “There’s nothing you can do about it –”

“Are you saying there’s nothing you actually wanted from me?” his brother interrupted, voice sharp now, almost angry. “Your presence is neither wanted nor needed here. Leave at once.”

“No, it’s just – you weren’t at the hanshi, and there’s work to be done.”

“So what? I’ll do it later.”

“You’re sect leader now. You have duties,” Lan Qiren said. “You can’t just go out night-hunting whenever you wish –”

“You said it yourself, I’m sect leader - me, and me alone!” his brother snapped. “From what I recall, that makes me the one who gives the orders, not you. Now get lost!”

Lan Qiren blinked, shocked at the fierceness of the rebuke, and watched as his brother strode away – in the direction He Kexin had gone, rather than back towards the Cloud Recesses.

This, he thought to himself, is a problem.

It was, too. His brother abandoned his duties more and more often, avid in his pursuit of He Kexin, who he had invited to stay for a while at the Cloud Recesses with the friends she was travelling with. She did, as he’d said, seem to like him well enough, but it seemed clear that her regard was far more cursory than his own - and not just to Lan Qiren, either.

Lan Qiren was roped in by the elders to help do some of the work his brother was neglecting, at first a little and then more. It got in the way of his own preparations, and started getting on his nerves, too.

“You don’t understand,” one of his teachers told him when he tried to resist the notion of spending a large chunk of his time on sect paperwork instead of practicing music. “Love, for our sect, is a powerful thing. When it comes unexpectedly, it is wild and irresistible, like a river bursting through a dam and overflowing its banks. It’s no surprise that your brother is so focused on winning his bride – and all for the best, too. He has to have heirs to inherit one day.”

Lan Qiren didn’t disagree with that, naturally. He certainly didn’t want to be stuck being his brother’s heir any longer than he had to. It was only…

“Just because he’s in love with her doesn’t mean she’s going to be his bride,” he said, and wondered a little spitefully why it was just assumed that he didn’t understand what it meant to love someone. Just because he didn’t feel it the same way as they did didn’t make his heart any less a Lan. “I don’t know why you’re all being so stubborn about this. A woman knows her own mind - just because he offers himself doesn’t mean she has to accept.”

“Stop saying such inauspicious things,” his teacher scolded. “You should be wishing your brother luck, instead.”

“He doesn’t need luck,” another teacher, the one for swordsmanship, put in. “He needs more of a backbone. Doesn’t she have a father he can talk to?”

That started up another debate on the relevance of the opinion of the young in setting their own marriages, an old classic, and Lan Qiren sighed and took his leave. He winced when he realized that his brother was not far away, standing with He Kexin in one of the nearby gardens – at his brother’s cultivation level, there was little chance he hadn’t heard the subject of their conversation, and indeed his glare indicated that he had. He Kexin wasn’t looking his way, but Lan Qiren suspected she might’ve heard some as well.

His suspicions were borne out the next day, much to his misfortune.

“Mistress He!” he exclaimed, groping around wildly for his clothing. He’d been humming his way through a new stanza while taking a bath, having taken a day off to wash his hair, only to turn around and see her standing there in the middle of his quarters. “What are you – I’m not dressed – these are my rooms!”

“I know,” she said, not moving.

Lan Qiren decided his dignity was more important than his health and reached out to yank his clothing into the bath with him, ignoring how they got heavy and soaked with water; he pulled on his inner robes and, once attired, he clambered out, rather annoyed. Just because He Kexin was a rogue cultivator didn’t excuse her from knowing manners, and just because she was his brother’s favorite, granted the freedom to wander wherever she would within the Cloud Recesses, didn’t give her the right to violate his privacy. “Mistress He –”

“You’re cute,” she said, and he stared at her, aghast. “Not quite as handsome as your brother, nowhere near as charming, and the way you drone on is rather annoying, but at least you have some respect for a woman’s wishes, and that face of yours isn’t bad. You’re not courting anyone at present, is that right?”

“I’m not,” he said, taken aback. “But what –”

“Good,” she said, and the next thing he knew she was in his arms, trying to kiss him. It was only through his quick reaction that he was able to turn his face away and avoid it.

“Mistress – Mistress He!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said, sounding amused even as she groped him in an intimate place. “It’s part of the plan, eventually, but it’d still be a pity for us to get caught before we get to the fun part.”

“I don’t – I’m not – I don’t want – let go of me!”

“Are you a virgin?” she laughed. “For shame, a man of your age. Just relax, you’ll like it soon enough –”

Lan Qiren’s brother had described He Kexin as a brilliant cultivator, and he’d been right; for all that she was a rogue cultivator, lacking the resources of a Great Sect, she was talented and promising, a powerful sword cultivator in her own right, and her grip on Lan Qiren’s body was relentless.

Lan Qiren tried first to get away from her without harming her, but she wouldn’t let go of him, pulling open his robes and even burying her teeth into his throat – that was the straw too far for him; he whistled a series of notes, short and sharp, the burst of qi shocking her grip loose, and then he threw her as far away from him as he could, knocking her into the opposite wall.

“Kexin!”

Lan Qiren turned: it was his brother rushing in through his door, falling down to his knees in front of her to examine her to make sure she wasn’t injured, and then turning to look at Lan Qiren, his eyes aflame with rage.

Lan Qiren glanced down at himself: robes askew and sopping wet, scratches on his chest and a bite on his neck.

“No,” he said, abruptly realizing how he must look, how they must look. Part of the plan, He Kexin had said; she must have known that her brother wouldn’t leave her alone for very long, and she’d clearly intended on using Lan Qiren as a means to get his brother to give up on his pursuit. Very few men would continue to chase a woman that spurned them for their own younger brother, especially one they didn’t much like. “It’s not – I didn’t –” Denial wasn’t going to help. “Do not succumb to rage!”

“Do not engage in debauchery,” his brother snapped back, rising to his feet. “Do not break faith!”

Lan Qiren took a step back, and then another. “Do not make assumptions about others.”

His brother wasn’t listening, though, and Lan Qiren found himself slammed against his own wall, held up and strangled by his own collar, his favorite painting falling to the ground from the force of it.

“How dare you,” his brother hissed, his eyes red. “How dare you touch her –”

“I didn’t! She was the one who –”

The next slam of Lan Qiren’s body against the wall jarred his teeth so hard that he bit his tongue to bleeding, and knocked his brain all around his skull. His brother was still talking, he thought, but he couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. It belatedly occurred to him that using the same excuse as every rapist in history – she was asking for it, she was the one who initiated, it was all her – was probably not a good idea, even if in his case it was actually true.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but his brother’s fist hit his stomach before he could speak, all the air knocking out of him.

“And then you – you hurt her –”

“Qingheng-jun, leave him be! It wasn’t him at all, you’re misunderstanding. I only wanted – ”

His brother threw him away, all his attention drawn away by his love, and Lan Qiren stumbled inelegantly on his way down, his feet slipping on the wet floor and tripping him up, and his head slammed hard against the corner of his bathtub as he fell down. As he sank to the floor, his vision going black, he thought blearily that the concussion he was undoubtedly going to have might even be worth it if only it meant that his brother would finally give up on his mad and hopeless pursuit of He Kexin already.

He did not.

#mdzs #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #he kexin #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls #mind the ao3 tags

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scuttling · 3 years

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Promise

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 5,844 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Biting, Hickies, Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Voyeurism, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Oral Fixation, Unprotected Sex, Tie as Restraint, Dirty Talk, Mention of Somnophilia Summary: Two weeks after the events of 'Patient', Spencer is feeling a little bit like a third wheel. Sophie and Aaron come up with a plan to show him how much he means to them. Collection: Part 4 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr. Link to A03 or read below! For the last couple of weeks, Spencer has almost exclusively been staying the night at Aaron and Sophie’s. The three of them arrive at work together every day, go to lunch together every day, leave together every day, and no one has commented on that or found it strange in any way. He’s honestly a little disappointed; he’s happy, in love, and this is arguably the best time of his life, stuff he would most like to share with other people, but they either don’t notice or simply don’t care. It's frustrating.

He wears one of Aaron’s ties to work on a Friday, because he’d been in such a hurry to throw some clothes into his bag during a rare pit stop to his apartment that he didn’t grab enough, and he figured no one would notice, since they haven’t noticed anything else up to this point.

However…

“Hey. Hotch has a tie just like that, doesn’t he?” Garcia asks when he’s down in her cave looking over some age progression renderings she made for him. He looks down, runs his fingers over it, shrugs.

“Does he? I didn’t realize.” She sweeps her gaze over his face, tilts her head like she’s trying to figure him out, but ultimately, she just smiles.

“Maybe not. I see a lot of ties around here, you know? Anyway, see how…”

Later that day, he takes some case files up to Aaron’s office—purely for make out purposes—and they’re kissing pretty hot and heavy when Aaron slips his fingers around the knot of his tie and twists it, so it tightens around the base of his throat. He moans, a little startled, and very turned on, and Aaron hums against his lips.

“So fucking gorgeous when you wear my clothes, Spencer, but especially this. It’s so tempting, draws my attention right to your pretty throat.” His lips move there, brushing tenderly up the side, and he bites down gently, not enough to leave a mark, but enough that he feels it in his dick. “If I had my way, you’d be constantly covered in bruises here. Everyone would look at you and know you belong to someone.” Spencer licks his lips, exhales deeply.

“I wish you could,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers through the hair at the back of Aaron’s head. “Maybe—maybe just one?” He’s lightheaded at the thought, both of having Aaron’s hot mouth tease a bruise there and of being seen for the desperate, needy slut he is. Of the whole team, the whole office, the whole world knowing he is taken, happily, regularly, by not one but two beautiful human beings.

Aaron presses his hand against Spencer’s cock, which is extremely hard, giving away all of his secrets, and he huffs against his throat.

“Yeah. You want me to suck and bite your neck until you’re purple and aching, and then you want to walk right downstairs and show it off, don’t you? No doubts about who gave it to you, about who your daddy is. About who you belong to.” He nods, breathing heavily.

“Yes. I want them to see, I want them to know.” Aaron walks him back so he’s leaning against the edge of the desk, and he runs his hands slowly up and down Spencer’s body, brushing his lips so softly over his throat. It feels good, but it’s not what he wants, and Aaron knows it, the tease.

He shifts his hips, rubs against Aaron for friction, and when he finds his cock he gasps, fists his hand into Aaron’s jacket. He lifts his leg, pressing against Aaron’s thigh, and gets them to line up beside each other, sliding easily due to the fabric of their suit pants.

“Oh, fuck, Spencer,” he groans, hands falling to the desk on either side of his body. “Needy boy.” He tugs down the collar of his shirt a little more, bites down hard at the base of this throat, and Spencer moans, clutches at him, rubbing frantically.

Aaron’s mouth is hard, sucking deeply, and Spencer knows that what he’s doing is actually breaking blood vessels beneath his skin, but it feels like he’s sucking the life out of him, leaving him dizzy and achy and desperate for release. He twists his fingers in Aaron’s hair, tight, and humps his hips up against his hard body, his hard cock, and he comes so powerfully he sees stars, panting and shaking through it until he leans his weight back against the desk, his energy depleted.

Aaron pulls back, looks at him with dark, lustful eyes, and bends for a hot, wet kiss.

“Perfect, beautiful boy,” he rasps when the kiss breaks, and he unclasps his belt, takes out his cock, looks down at Spencer’s mouth; it’s all he needs to do to get Spencer on his knees, and he’s sure he looks filthy—his face is hot, and his collar is still loose, with what must be a huge, dark hickey blooming there—because it only takes a few seconds for Aaron to spill down his throat, his hand under Spencer’s chin while he swallows him down.

He helps him to his feet, and they kiss, work to right each other’s clothes and hair even though Spencer feels like his face is the real problem—his eyes half-lidded, his mouth slack and his tongue peeking out the way it always does when he’s satisfied. Aaron looks at him affectionately, probably at the dopey look he’s so capable of putting on his face, and he kisses him again, softer, then brushes his lips over his nose.

“I love you. Want me to come down and make you a tea?” he asks softly, so sweet, but Spencer just shakes his head, swallows.

“No, that’s okay. I know you’re busy, and I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Aaron sighs, sweeps a hand gently over his cheek.

“My time is your time. You’ve taken nothing I didn’t want to give.” He kisses him fully on the mouth, and Spencer hums happily against his lips. “Is there anything I can do for you before you head back to work? Or, I guess you should probably head to the bathroom first, to get cleaned up,” he amends, and he looks down at Spencer’s crotch like he would prefer to clean it up himself, slowly, with his tongue. Spencer shakes his head.

“No, thank you. I’m really alright. I love you,” he murmurs, kissing his lips, “and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.” Spencer slips past him, out the door, and when he’s done cleaning up in the bathroom, he looks at himself in the mirror; he thinks he looks wrecked, debauched, but maybe that’s only because he knows that he is. He pulls down his collar, looks at the huge, dark, angry bruise Aaron left, smiles, and covers it back up.

Mostly.

When he takes his seat, Sophie looks up at him, sweeps her eyes over his face, his throat, and he can see her breath pick up. God, she’s so easy to get going, it’s not even fair. She makes eye contact, swallows, looks up at Aaron’s office, and then stands, locks her computer, and heads upstairs.

About ten minutes later, she’s back; he looks up at her, and because he looks at her so much, he notices all the little things that have changed—her hair, previously falling in voluminous waves, looks a little flat, and her chest is red, flushed, and when she logs back into her computer, he notices the edge of a purple bruise on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, barely concealed by the white v-neck t-shirt she wears. She meets his eyes, sweeps her tongue over her lips, and buries herself in work.

He’s hard, again.

No one notices, again. They take a case in Orlando, a serial killer case like many before it, nothing so out of the ordinary that anyone should be particularly on edge, but Spencer is, and Sophie can’t figure out why. He’s retreated into himself, not as talkative, and snippy, when he does speak, so she doesn’t start the car right away when they climb in, hopes for a little partner/girlfriend heart to heart before they go canvassing for leads.

“Spencer. Hey,” she says softly, pressing her hand to his cheek when he won’t make eye contact. “Baby, what’s going on? You’ve been distant all day. I’m worried about you.” He presses his face against her palm, looks up at her with sad eyes.

“I hate when we’re on a case, and I know that you and Aaron will get to sleep together, and I’m stuck in my room by myself, all alone.” She sighs, because that can’t be all it is, but it makes her heart hurt anyway.

“Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“It’s not just that, it’s the bigger picture. You two are… out, for lack of a better word. People see you, they know you’re together, they know you’re in love. I feel like the third wheel, sometimes. People don’t know that I mean anything to either of you. They don’t know I love you, or that you love me, that we…” He shakes his head, presses his lips together like he wants to cry. “That when the three of us make love, I feel like the man I’m supposed to be. That I feel really seen for the first time in my life.” She puts her other hand on the side of his face, brings him closer for a slow, loving kiss, breathes against his lips.

“I’m sorry, honey. You’re right, none of that is fair to you, and we haven’t been very thoughtful or attentive to your needs around this. I promise things will change. I don’t know how, exactly… It’s complicated, I know you know that. But you deserve to be just as seen as Aaron and I are, so we’ll find a way to make it work.” She rests her nose against his, softly kisses his lips. “I love you so much, Spencer, and so does Aaron. You aren’t a third wheel, we’re all equal.” He nods against her cheek.

“I know, I do, and I love you both so much. I don’t want to make your lives harder, but I want more. I need more.” She pulls back, brushes her fingers through his hair, runs a soothing hand over his arm.

“Of course you do, and we want that too. You’re not asking for anything we shouldn’t have already given you.” She feels guilt like a pit in her stomach at the fact that they didn’t think of this, try to get ahead of it. Poor Spencer. “It will work out, baby, I promise. We’ll find a way. And I’ll sleep in your room tonight,” she adds, knowing it’s a small comfort, but she hopes it makes him feel better until they can make the big things right. “I’ve slept in your room before, when things were hard, it’s not like it’s a big deal.” He closes his eyes, nods tightly.

“Right. No one needs to know.” She frowns, because that’s not what she meant, but he pulls back, buckles up his seatbelt, and she does the same, at a loss for what she can do in the meantime to make him feel seen.

When she’s in Aaron’s room that night, getting ready to duck into Spencer’s, she has an idea, runs it by him. His face abruptly goes serious, dark, and he takes her face in his hands, kisses her roughly.

“Are you sure? Anyone could see—it’s not like we’re in a low-traffic city,” he warns, but she nods. She’s pretty sure, after talking to both of them, that this is something that Spencer would enjoy, that would maybe make him feel a little bit better about it all. She wants to do it.

“Yeah. We’re the only ones on this side of the hall, so I figure that’s as safe as we’ll get, in terms of the team, and… I’m okay, with anyone else. If it will make him happy.” She grips the hair at the back of his head, presses their foreheads together. “You’ll be there for me, right?”

“I promise,” he murmurs, caressing her face, and she sighs against his lips.

“Thank you. I love you.” He says it back, kisses her, and she takes a step back, grabs her stuff, walks to the door. “I’ll text you, let you know when we’re ready.”

“Okay. Remember your words. Use them if you need them.” She nods, leaves the room, knocks lightly on Spencer’s door.

“Hey, honey,” she greets, and he steps aside, takes her bag, closes the door behind them. She pulls him down for a gentle, slow kiss, smooths her hands over his body like she’s trying to commit him to memory. “Hmm. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he says with a soft smile. “I was thinking about earlier, in the car, and I wasn’t fair. It makes sense that people can’t know until we figure things out; I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.” She thanks the heavens above for the perfect segue, because she’d been struggling with a way to explain her idea without sounding like a babbling, horny idiot.

“It makes sense that the team can’t know,” she corrects, and she leans up for another kiss. “Or people we work with. But other people, people we don’t know, that would be fine, right?” He tilts his head, looks a little confused by her question.

“What do you mean? Like, if we went on a date together? And people saw us?” She nods a little.

“Yeah, something like that. Or even… you know. If people saw you kissing me, or they saw us having sex. That would be okay, wouldn’t it?” Her heart is racing, and his breathing picks up, she can tell; she can tell her words affect him just by the set of his mouth, the way his hands move to her hips and tighten there. It’s so fucking hot.

“Yeah, yeah. That would be okay. Would that be okay with you?” Aaron was right then, when he’d suggested that their boy might be harboring a hidden exhibitionism kink; she smiles, pleased, proud of their man for noticing.

“It would be okay with me,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his. “There’s a chaise couch thingy on the balcony out there. I thought maybe you and I could put on a show for Aaron; and if someone else is out on their balcony, and they happen to see us, all the better. They’ll see how horny you make me, how hard and loud I come for you. How much I love you, need you, want you.” Her last words are spoken directly into his ear, and he shivers, lifts her up and presses her back against the wall.

“Fuck. Yeah, I want to.” His mouth moves frantically over her throat, his hands on her back, and he makes sure she’s supported before moving to pull her shirt over her head, so he can kiss and lick and squeeze her exposed tits. “Oh, god.”

“Yeah, Spencer. I can’t wait to feel you, to show the world what you mean to me. What you do to me.” He’s panting, and he puts his hands on her again, moves them to the bed, lays her back on it.

“Sophie, so good for me, always giving me so much. Always pleasing me, always.” She tips her head back, moans, and when he drags her pants down her legs, then her panties, she sighs, horny, happy, pleased. A little nervous. But she wants to do this for him more than anything.

“Let me text Aaron real quick,” she says, but she pulls his shirt off first, pushes down his pants and boxers, wants to see him, feel him. He hands her her phone, and her fingers are trembling a little as she types out the text.

Showtime.

Spencer is, of course, as sweet and kind and sexy as ever, when he lays her naked body back on the chaise, which is directly across from Aaron’s balcony. He looks into her eyes, makes sure she’s okay, and she nods, a signal to begin.

They very mindfully keep their eyes on each other, don’t pause to try to seek out Aaron—she knows he’s there, even though it’s dark, because he said he’d be—or to check for anyone else. They both decided it would be better that way.

Both hands cover her breasts, rubbing slow circles, stimulating her nipples, and she moans softly, letting her head fall back, moving her arms up on either side of it. He kisses her mouth tenderly, then trails his lips down her throat, between her breasts, down her stomach; he dips his head low, takes a gentle taste of her slick, throbbing pussy, and then one of his hands leaves her chest to press open her thigh, giving himself more room to work.

“So fucking beautiful. Wet and open—you really want me, don’t you, sweet girl?” His voice is a little louder than it would normally be, and she quickly realizes he wants to make sure it carries over to Aaron, so he can hear them as well. She tries to remember to be really loud, even though it goes against her instincts.

“Oh, yes.” He spreads his fingers where they rest on her tit, then pushes it up, harder, and she moans. “Mmmh, yeah.”

“So perfect for me. Horny, slutty, gorgeous girl for daddy.” She snaps her eyes shut, bites into her bottom lip; she hadn’t counted on him bringing out the daddy tonight, while they’re doing this. It makes her feel dirty, and extremely aroused.

“Yes, daddy. I’m so horny, s-so slutty,” she stumbles when he slides his tongue between her lips, then up over her aching clit. “Oh, god, yes. Yes, daddy.”

He takes his time, goes slowly, slips his tongue through her folds, nibbles them with careful teeth, and she is just a mass of flesh and nerve endings sinking into the sofa, squirming under his hands, whimpering and moaning at his every lick, touch. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion except her heart, her heaving chest, and her brain is already deliciously empty, like static on a broken television—it’s either her mind’s way of protecting her from the anxiety she knows she should be feeling at being this exposed, doing something so, so illegal and filthy and wrong, or it’s just Spencer.

She thinks it might actually be just Spencer.

He looks up at her from between her legs, so gorgeous, flushed, turned on, and he presses two fingers into her open mouth, which only makes her sink deeper into the place that’s all pleasure and need and wanting to please him. He pumps them into her mouth a few times, then pulls them out and sinks them deep into her pussy, making her arch and sigh.

“There you go, baby, that’s it,” he praises, dragging them in and out, in and out, in and out. He leans in to press the point of his tongue against her clit, divine sensation right where she wants it, and she comes around his fingers, moaning and gripping the edge of the cushion in her hands. “That’s a good girl. Good girl.” He shifts up, moves his hand up her body, slips his wet fingers back into her mouth so she’ll suck them clean.

She’s never felt so good in her entire fucking life. Aaron has been trying to resist shoving a hand into his boxers and jerking himself off, but his willpower is wearing thin.

Watching Spencer bring Sophie off with his mouth and his hands was... stimulating to say the least; she dropped into subspace so quickly and completely, he could see it from even a balcony away. Spencer is getting better and better at dominating her every day, better than him, even, because he has a refinement, a subtle nuance, that Aaron hasn’t found on his own quite yet.

It’s when he fucks her, though, that Aaron starts to lose his resolve. Maybe it’s because he’s truly just a spectator for the first time in their relationship, or maybe it’s because he knows—even if they don’t—that they’ve amassed a small audience, but he spreads his legs, rubs his hand over the bulge in his boxers, tries to keep breathing.

The tie thing is a tease, just truly unfair.

Before Spencer pushes into her, he reaches a hand down, pulls out a tie—one of Aaron’s, the one Spencer had worn to the office the day he’d marked him—and wraps it around Sophie’s wrists, knotting it tightly to keep her hands together, and he tucks it into the arm of the chaise so she’ll keep them above her head. She doesn’t make a sound, just stares up at him, subservient and willing, and it makes Aaron’s head spin. He can’t imagine what it does to Spencer.

With a couple of kisses, he’s inside her, up on his knees, his hands on her hips, and she wraps her thighs around his waist, lifts her ass up, and lets him pound inside.

“Oh, daddy. Fuck me,” she moans, and he licks his lips, pulls her against him with each thrust so he’s deep, fully sheathed inside her. “Yeah, just like that. All the way inside me. Tight, but I love it,” she pants, and he squeezes his eyes shut—so he won’t come, Aaron knows.

“Yes you do. Such a good little slut for daddy, taking my big cock even though it's tight. Your pussy’s mine, and I take what I want, don’t I?”

“God, yes. Take it, take it,” she mutters, and Spencer slowly brings his hands up to cover her throat, because she needs grounding and they can both tell. He slides his hands up and down her throat, not choking, just rubbing her there, and she moans, a wrecked and dirty sound. “Will you come inside me, daddy? Fill me up? Can I sleep with it inside me?” Aaron swallows hard, puts his hand in his pants and starts jerking his swollen, leaking cock. Spencer hums.

“Yes, baby, I’ll fill you with come. You can sleep with it. Maybe I’ll wake up in the night, stiff, and pump some more into you while you sleep. Would you like that?” She moans, bucks hard against him, nods.

“Yes, daddy. I’ll take whatever you give me. You do what you want to me. I’m just your pussy, just here for you to use. Use me.” He thrusts into her faster, his hands tight on her hips again, and he comes, snapping his body hard against hers.

Aaron knows he gets quickly spent and tired, but he jackhammers his cock into her a dozen times anyway, determined, and she comes calling Spencer, her hips stuttering against his until they both slow and settle. Aaron comes too, just a quiet grunt followed by a long, satisfied sigh.

Spencer unties her arms, kisses her wrists, and picks her up; it’s easy, because he’s still inside her, and her legs are still around him. A couple of people applaud and whistle from a balcony above, and Sophie tucks her face into Spencer’s neck, wraps her arms around him, and they go inside.

The two of you are incredible, he texts Spencer when he goes inside as well. I love you both so much. So perfect, so beautiful. Take care of each other.

We love you, too. I think tomorrow, you two should let me watch.

Aaron closes his eyes, exhales long, climbs into bed.

The next day, they somehow manage to work together as if nothing happened the night before, as if his two perfect partners didn’t fuck in front of a live audience, as if he didn’t bring himself off in public as a result.

It’s enough to keep him in a state of passive arousal all day, and he hopes and prays it’s not enough to give him an erection, because he doesn’t have time for it.

That night, though, is another story entirely.

Roles are reversed, as requested; Spencer sits on his balcony, in the dark, but they don’t look toward him, just the way he and Sophie didn’t look for Aaron. She said it helped, and he wants to keep her as comfortable as possible, knows this is a lot.

Aaron lays back on the chaise, and he gently palms Sophie’s head as she holds his hips, kisses and licks his dick; he knows she’ll fall hard sucking him off like this, and he liked how submissive she was for Spencer yesterday, would like to get her there himself too.

“Hmm. Good girl, baby,” he hums, brushing back her hair; she’d run her tongue over him all night if he let her, and it would get him off, too, but he wants to make it good for Spencer, so he reaches down and lifts his cock, guides her mouth down onto it.

She moans on him, wraps her hand around the base, presses her lips tight and bobs her head, slow and steady, and he tips his head back, rubs her arms, encouraging the treatment.

“Yes, baby, suck on daddy’s cock. You’re always best with your mouth full, aren’t you, my sweet, slutty girl?” She hums around him, shifts so she can get a hand between her legs, which is his absolute favorite, and moves faster, her hand and her mouth together, wet and hot, enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. He knows he won’t last long if she keeps that up, lets them both enjoy it for a moment before putting his hands on her cheeks and pulling her off gently. “Enough of that; climb up for daddy,” he instructs, and she slinks up his body, presses her mouth to his for a heated, eager kiss.

It lasts a while, because she feels so good, tastes so good, like him, and then they separate, panting against each other. “How do you want me, daddy?” He sits up, runs a hand up her body, and then guides her to sit back on his dick, making them both gasp. “Hmm, yeah. Thank you, daddy,” she murmurs, and she presses her hands against his chest and starts to move atop him.

She’s perfect, as always, fucking quickly, slamming into his thrusts, and one hand falls back to steady herself against his thigh; her chest is flushed and red, nipples hard, and he can’t resist, has to lean in and suck one into his mouth, roll it around on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck, mmm,” she sighs, wrapping her hand around the back of his head and holding him close. “You know my body so well because it’s yours, daddy. Yours to use, to fuck, to come inside.” He releases her breast and stares up at her, her breathing hard, her mouth open in a silent moan. She’s gorgeous, unabashed, riding his cock like she was made for it; he knows Spencer has to be touching himself as he watches her body work, her hips roll against him.

It’s relatively quiet, and he hears someone mutter, same girl, different guy, and he’s forced to really think about this for a moment, what they’re doing, the kind of line they’ve crossed. He wonders if this will be something done once, remembered fondly but out of their systems for good, or something they’ll need, will have to learn to navigate around safely, healthily. He thinks about how different it is for her, as a woman, compared to how it is for them as men.

She either feels none of the same apprehension or simply hides it well, because she only bounces harder against his thighs until she comes whimpering his name. He groans, puts his hands on her ass and squeezes it, urging her to keep going until the sensitivity passes, not to stop or slow. She knows what to do—another voice says riding it like a champ—just tosses her hair over her shoulder, scrapes her nails through the hair on his chest, moans long and loud.

“Mmm, yes, daddy, thank you daddy. Thank you for not letting me stop—I’m just here for you to use, to take your come. I’m your slut.”

“Yes, baby girl, you are a slut for daddy. You live to be fucked hard, destroyed by me. By us.” It’s the only time they’ve acknowledged Spencer, and Aaron can hear a faint groan coming from his direction. “One man is not enough for a needy, desperate slut like you. You need two. Separately, together—you belong to us both.” She runs a hand through her hair, bucks hard against him, reaches down to rub at her clit again; god, if she comes on his cock twice he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants, and he leans up again, bites down on her nipple, and she cries out in pleasure, digs her nails into his chest, and comes again. He puts both hands hard on her hips, forces her down onto his cock a handful of times and then comes as well, pumping into her tight channel with a groan.

She pants, catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, and he gets her into the bedroom, lays her back on the bed, and watches her body move as she works to catch her breath, still shivering with aftershocks, clamping down tight around his cock. She touches his face, his hair, and he only pulls out when he hears a light but insistent knock on the door.

“It’s Spencer, baby, I’ll be right back,” he promises, kissing her, and when he opens the door Spencer flies in, grabs him hard, kisses him, then makes his way to Sophie; he touches her softly, stroking her hair, whispering words of praise until she’s shaking and the only thing that will soothe her is his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

It’s the first time he actually notices how differently she sees them, as their sub. Aaron is the one who makes rules, gives orders, disciplines and corrects, and Spencer is softer, earning obedience with his actions more than his words. Aaron pushes her, overwhelms her, and Spencer is the one who helps her through when she’s overwhelmed, and it’s why this works, why it works when he’s dominating Spencer, too. There’s no clashing of personalities, it’s all complementary, all necessary. All important.

He has to find a way to make this right. “Strauss was… confused, to say the least,” Aaron explains to them at dinner a few nights later. “And I could tell she thinks I’m just a couple more twenty-somethings away from being a cult leader or something,” he says—only half joking, Sophie can tell, “but she knows, now. All that’s left is to tell the team, and then live with whatever repercussions may come.” She reaches out for both of their hands, squeezes them.

“Well, the team was okay with us when we disclosed, and this is a little more unconventional, but we know them. I don’t think we’ll have a problem. If anyone else has one, that’s beyond our control. It doesn’t say anything about us; people have always found a reason to dislike something different just because it’s different.” She glances at Spencer, who is looking so soft, pleased, that she doesn’t know how they didn’t see the signs before. He’s like a whole new person, now, their person.

"One more thing," Aaron says, and he's looking at the both of them, his face sweet and loving too. He crosses the room, opens a drawer, pulls out two small jewelry boxes and sets one in front of each of them. He crouches between them. "I know it might seem a little soon, but this isn't anything serious, just a reminder, a promise. I don't ever want either of you to feel like we aren't all equal here: equally valued, equally important, equally loved." Sophie opens hers—a delicate gold band with a small diamond in the middle—and Aaron pulls a third out of his pocket, thicker, simple, just gold, identical to the one Spencer opens. "Please don't ever think you can't talk to me when something is bothering you, and don't ever forget that I love you."

She leans over, kisses him, kisses Spencer, and they kiss each other, and the night gets away from them and they have sex in so many different positions and combinations it’s like Twister, but everyone feels fulfilled when they drift off to sleep, and that’s the most important thing.

Telling the team is… interesting, to say the least.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know,” JJ says, nodding, and Aaron, Spencer, and Sophie just look at each other where they stand. Spencer frowns, confused.

“What do you mean, ‘thanks for letting us know’? That’s it?” Morgan crosses his hands behind his head.

“Yeah. We’ve known for a while, but this is like you guys coming out, as bi or pan or whatever you two are,” he says, gesturing to the guys, “and then as like… what’s the word, baby girl?” he asks Garcia, and she waves her feathered pen at the three of them.

“Throuple. It’s like a couple, but, you know, three.” She smiles kindly.

“You knew,” Spencer repeats, and Sophie glances at Aaron, shoots him an indulgent smile. “You knew, all along?”

“Since the day you guys had your ‘partner evaluations,’” Prentiss admits with a teasing tone. “You two are extremely obvious. It’s like you can’t get laid without looking like two blushing, giggling little school girls after. So not sneaky.”

“I literally saw you two making out at Rossi’s party,” JJ says with a laugh. “I was going to tell Hotch I thought you were cheating on him, but Garcia convinced me not to. She was on to your whole thing before any of us.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Spencer asks, looking like he’s about to pull his hair out. Sophie knows he’d been so upset he couldn’t share their relationship with anyone, and they knew for most, if not all of it, so he’s understandably kind of losing it.

“What were we supposed to do? Order a cake and make you a banner that said, ‘Congrats on the threesome!’?” Prentiss jokes, and Garcia leans back in her chair to look at her.

“Throuple.” Prentiss waves her hand, accepts the correction, and Sophie reaches out for Spencer, smooths her hand over his back, presses her nose to his shoulder.

“Okay, well I think this turned out well. Let’s go make a cup of tea, baby,” she murmurs, and Spencer lets himself be led away, muttering about stupid friends that drive me crazy. Aaron follows behind them, presses his hand to her lower back, and Sophie sighs, content.

#aaron hotchner x original female character #hotch x original female character #latina original female character #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x aaron hotchner

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cloudphillips · 4 years

Text

Back To December

Summary: It was only a month before December 13

A month before December 13

The sensation of featherlight touches stirred Joohyun from her sleep. It traced patterns along the slender tilt of her nose down to the curve of her jaw before an voice so sweet yet distant whispered to her ear. "Wake up sleepyhead."

A soft smile broke on the corners of her lips before she lazily dragged her arms and clung onto the person beside her. "Five more minutes Wan." She groaned upon burying herself in the comforts of her lover's embrace, deeply smelling the scent of jasmine and relishing in the warmth Seungwan had to offer.

"You said that earlier." Seungwan fondly ran her fingers through the smooth tresses of Joohyun's raven hair before affectionately placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Come on you lazy butt. I already cooked breakfast." Her efforts remained futile since Joohyun wouldn't budge.

"Please. Just give me five more minutes with you." Was Joohyun's simple response as she tightened her hold around Seungwan, clearly indicating that she had no intentions of letting go. In the end, Seungwan finally relented because how could she ever say no to Joohyun.

Five minutes turned to ten until it lasted for an hour before Seungwan decided that Joohyun had enough rest. The sunlight was already streaming from the curtains and birds were already chirping merrily to start the wonderful day. Brushing away stray locks of raven hair, Seungwan nudged her girlfriend awake. "Wake up Hyun. You need to let me go."

Seungwan's odd choice of sentence brought a chill down her spine and promptly caused a small frown to paint her features. Joohyun didn't like hearing those words. She greatly detested it. Tightening her hold around her girlfriend's waiste, she whispered hollowly. "I won't."

The blonde merely shook her head. "Then you'll be stuck with me forever." If they'll just laze around all they, they won't get anything done. At this point, will they ever accomplish anything?

"Good. Because I'm binding myself to you."

"If you keep saying things like that, how can you expect me not to marry you?"

***

A week before December 13

"So when are we gonna get married?"

Joohyun abruptly asked Seungwan out of the blue when they were cuddling on the couch, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace while sipping hot chocolate on a cold night. Snow fell like droplets of rain and enveloped the earth in a winter wonderland. Christmas was already nearing and most people were out buying presents. Meanwhile, the couple decided to skip the holiday rush and just spend some time together.

Seungwan choked on her drink and felt the hot beverage scalding her tongue. Joohyun soothingly patted her back as she tried to recover from the shock. "What??" The blonde probably looked like a bewildered mess but she completely blames her girlfriend for making her like this.

"I said, when are we going to get married?" Joohyun repeated, like a mother speaking to a toddler, perfectly enunciating the words to ensure that Seungwan would hear them correctly.

"I don't know Hyun. Don't you think it's a little sudden for that?" Seungwan preoccupied herself with wiping away the stain on her sleeves. Her girlfriend remained silent for long while and when she looked up, saw Joohyun frowning in disdain.

"So you don't want to get married with me?" She was demanding an explanation and didn't look quite at all pleased. Joohyun probably took offense in that statement.

Seungwan was quick to backtrack and reassure her. "No no no. It's just that... I would still have to buy you one of those large diamond rings with 24 carats, take you out on an expensive dinner, sweep you off your feet and propose under the night sky." She rubbed her neck and acted all sheepish. "I actually planned everything back before to make sure the plan was perfect. All that's left is my properly timed execution."

The blonde was fully rambling now. Her hands flew around to make wild gestures and Joohyun found her heart melting at her girlfriend's confession. She was happy, completely over the moon, upon knowing that she wasn't the only feeling the same way. That she wasn't the only one thinking of spending their whole lives together.

"I don't want a fancy wedding." Joohyun gingerly took Seungwan's hand and laced their fingers together. "I just want you." She lifted her gaze and stared deeply into those eyes with deep pools of brown that she countlessly found herself drowning in.

"I want to grow old with you."

There was tension in the way their gazes met. The gap between them slowly diminished until they forgot which one began and the other ended. Seungwan conquered Joohyun in a feat of everlasting kiss as their bodies joined together in a heated urgency. Clothes were torn and wills clashed. Joohyun was unable to contain a moan when Seungwan bit a particularly sensitive spot. She wanted to fight the blonde for dominance but she was helpless, especially when her lover expertly used her fingers to draw out the monster inside of Joohyun. Halos of light clouded her vision and she gasped breathlessly as Seungwan brought her to another high. When she was about to reach the peak, she cried out. "Take me! Take all of me!" All the while staring into those brown orbs when she felt those lips marking her, claiming her, conquering her.

Seungwan grunted as she continued her ministrations and together they lapsed into surreal bliss. Their height of passion slowly dwindling to a mellow crescendo. The blonde collapsed on top of her and sweat clung onto their bodies after their passionate lovemaking but all Joohyun could ever think about was having Seungwan close. There was a lull of silence in the air as they stared into each other's eyes and Joohyun declared the words she had long kept hidden.

"Please don't ever leave me."

Seungwan didnt deign a reply as she affectionately placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be yours until the sun doesn't shine."

Her lips trailed along slender nose. "Til' time stands still."

"Until the winds don't blow."

Then she sealed her promise with a kiss.

***

A day before December 13

"Babe. I need to leave."

Seungwan was already donning her coat and tying shoes when she called out to Joohyun, who was lounging by the living room, watching the daily weather forecast. The news anchor predicted that a heavy storm will hit tomorrow and adviced everyone to stay indoors to avoid getting stranded.

"Where are you going?" Joohyun frowned when she saw the blonde heading for the doors.

"Just gonna buy some groceries. I won't be taking long." Her girlfriend shrugged before taking the keys from the bowl by the counter and checked her wallets for extra money.

For some reason, Joohyun felt uneasy as dread crept up her spine. She watched as her girlfriend kissed her farewell and headed towards the door. This odd sense of deja vú became something she couldn't ignore. Like, Seungwan leaving her alone somehow happened before and that thought alone scared her.

"Wan?" She called out just before the blonde could fully walk out the door.

"Yes?" Her girlfriend flashed her a bright smile. Joohyun couldn't shake the feeling that this would be the last time she'd ever see Seungwan.

"Don't go where I can't follow."

With that, she watched Seungwan walk out the door and completely left her alone.

***

An hour before December 13

"Unnie, are you going to visit the memorial later?"

Seulgi spoke through the other end of the phone. She called a few moments before to check on Joohyun, knowing that today was a very special day, and see how her friend was doing.

It's been years... years since Seulgi talked to Joohyun. They've lost contact since she left and Joohyun haven't been the same ever since. The older girl had become more withdrawn and reclusive. She had never fully recovered from her loss. Joohyun practically had her entire soul ripped away after that unfortunate car accident. It was understandable that she was still grieving.

A flash of lightning briefly lighted the sky followed by the mighty roar of the thunder and that's when the rain started to pour.

"No Seul. I'll be staying home." Joohyun was pacing around the house, trying to calm the rising panick in her heart. Her hands wouldn't stop trembling and her entire body felt numb. Seungwan still hasn't returned and she was becoming terrified.

What if something happened to her along the way?

What if she couldn't come back home?

What if?

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line before Seulgi broke the silence. "Joohyun." The gravity of her tone caused the older girl to momentarily stop pacing. "You should go. It's been years since you last visited and I'm sure she misses you."

For some reason, anger bubbled inside Joohyun and she was unable to stop herself from lashing out. "Don't you dare speak about her!"

"You can't hide from reality forever." Seulgi's calm and understanding voice did nothing to alleviate her frustration. It only made it worse. "I think it's time you accept that she'll never come back."

"No one asked for your opinion Kang Seulgi." With gritted teeth, Joohyun ended the call and threw the phone away. The device hit the wall and broke into several pieces then rendered completely useless. Thunder roared above the heavens and Joohyun could only watch as the rain poured on and on. It seemed like it would never stop. She needed to find her girlfriend and bring her home.

Staring at the dark sky, she clenched her fists and decided to visit the only place where she could find Seungwan.

***

December 13

Joohyun finally arrived at her intended destination. Only brief flashes of lightning seared the sky and the rain had somehow stopped pouring. It seemed like a diving being was watching Joohyun and keeping her safe. Maybe it was her all along.

Releasing a shaky breath, she got out of the car and trudged through the snow as she made her way along the familiar path leading to the cemetery. She decided to visit today. Seulgi was right. It's been a long time coming and she couldn't hide from reality forever.

It's about time she found closure.

Stopping in front of a marbled tombstone laid on the ground, Joohyun settled down and carefully brushed away the snow that accumulated in order to discern the words imprinted on the slab.

Here lies Son Seungwan

Born: February 21, 1994

Died: December 13, 2020

No matter the distance between us, we’re always gonna be under the same sky.

"So you finally came after all this time."

Her gaze shifted to the person she'd been missing for years, casually leaning against the tombstone and flashing that megawatt smile, acting completely nonchalant as if she never left Joohyun devastated. Just the sight of her presence caused the older girl to break. It was painful seeing her like this and Joohyun was still hurting. This emptiness will probably never go away now that she took everything with her. "Seungwan."

"You promised you would never leave."

The smile on the blonde's lips was slowly replaced by a frown. "I know."

But Joohyun was too late to stop the tears from falling. "You promised that we'd get married and grow old together." Maybe she was holding on to this pain for too long. Maybe it was time she let it all out.

"You promised not to go to a place where I can't follow."

She missed Seungwan. She missed everything about her.

"Maybe if I hadn't argued with you on that day then you'd still be here beside me now."

Joohyun finally found the courage to stare into directly into her eyes. The very same eyes that haunted her every waking moment.

"When I stay up at night, I stare at the empty side of the bed and wonder about the things I would tell you if you were lying next to me."

Tears fell like droplets of rain.

"I can't do this without you."

A beat.

A moment of silence.

"You have to let me go Joohyun." Seungwan tried to reach out but her advances were denied.

"No!" Joohyun shook her head vehemently. She refused to forget Seungwan. How can she do that? How can she just forget the person she offered her heart to? How can she forget the very reason she was still breathing?

"You have to let me go my love. Stop dwelling in the past and just accept that I can never come back." Seungwan sat on the ground before Joohyun and gingerly wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks. "You still have your whole life ahead of you. Don't let the dead hold you back."

"Live for me Joohyun."

Seungwan laughed wholeheartedly and Joohyun had never before seen such a breathtaking sight. She tried to commit every bit of her features into memory so she could not forget... would never forget.

Her silky blonde hair that flowed against the breeze.

Her deep pools of brown eyes that held secrets of the universe.

Her soft lips that Joohyun will forever yearn to kiss.

"I love you." Joohyun whispered a promise.

Seungwan smiled contentedly and a glowing bright light enveloped her entire being. Joohyun watched as the love of her life was bathed in the sunlight and completely disappeared before her eyes, leaving her alone in that empty cemetery.

When blue returned home, the sky could only mourn in gray.

#wenrene #red velvet #irene #wendy #seulgi #angst #fluff

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jmgiovine · 4 years

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My Path with the Force

: A Star Wars-fan Chronicle.

by. J.M.Giovine.

A long time ago, back in the 90s, I was 5 and the remastered edition of the Original Trilogy was released on VHS format. Star Wars entered in my life. I remeber those good old days. Since I’m the child of a failed marriage, my father used to pick me up every single weekend to take me for a ride for some father-and-son time, just the two of us, sometimes with my dad’s family as well. Like I said, good old days. Before that, my whole world turned around Batman and Jurassic Park, as well as pretty much every single Disney-animated flick I got my hands into. One of those weekeds, my dad took me to a Toy Store, and my wonder solidified the moment I saw a giant box-set of MicroMachines figures that immediately draw my attention... and eventually became my first merchandise (purchased by my dad as a gift) of the soon-to-be-my favorite franchise, ever.

Fun thing was, I never saw any of the original films, nor played any of the LucasArts videogames released back then. I entered into this fandom as an innocent five-year-old poser, but obviously, my curiosity and wanderlust won’t stop there. Eventually, I’ll turn to acknowledge the franchise from a movie perspective, ironically, almost immediatelly after acquire my most precious set of ships (which I still possess, for the most part). That very same year, my grandmother came one afternoon with several copies of VHS tapes on her bag that she proudly showed to us; the rents of the week. Little I knew, that would be it, the moment I’ll be acquainted with the Original Trilogy for the first time. Fun thing was, my grandmother is a considerably devoted catholic, and an awfully religious person (she’s nuts), but if I ever have to feel grateful about something she did for me, was introducing me to two different worlds I love: Indiana Jones, and Star Wars. She knew the films (at a certain degree), and basically spoiled me Vader was Luke’s father the very moment I pop A New Hope’s into the VHS. But I didn’t care back then, because I was hooked. Somehow, I realized, this was it; “this is the universe I love”.

I still think about it. What was it at first? I mean, I can answer that almost right away with a 6-hour-long explanation why I love this universe, but to be fair, I really wonder what was back in the day in my earliest childhood years, the very essential element that made me fell for it. The space ships? Maybe, that’s probably a reliable esthetic trait that’ll captivate any small child. Perhaps the whole Jedi mythos presented lightly between the three episodes, later explored with a larger detail in further entries and titles from both, the Expanded and New Canon. Which 5-year-old child wouldn’t want to be a Jedi Knight just as Obi Wan, or Luke by the time he showed up in Return of the Jedi (1983), weilding his brand-new green lightsaber in order to defeat Jabba’s band of criminals and guards. We’re getting closer. But I suspect there was more to it. Of course, being a grade-school kid my thoughts never went anywhere further than my visual and spectating admiration for the trilogy. That lasted 2 more years, 2 years of me asking like crazy the whole action figures and vehicles I was so desperate to possess and play with. Hardly I was gifted with some of the merchandise, aside my beloved MicroMachines set, and then, it came 1999...

I can just imagine, for the elder people, what this meant back at the release of The Phantom Menace (1999), although, it kindda happened the same way in 2015; people went nuts and fans all over the world realised it returned. Star Wars was back, but not in the shape of a horrible remasterization in a re-release of a classic film(s), but as a brand new episode. Something that’ll continue the story left behind more almost 20 years ago. Young version of characters we all loved from the first ones, as well as new introductions of characters that, from the distance, looked like they had certain potential. I mean, I just remember Darth Maul being literaly everywhere at stores, promos, banners. The guy everyone thought would be the new face of these new installments, just as Vader was years ago. The rest, well, what can I say? But this ain’t a review. To be completely honest... I liked it. Never watch it at the theater (until the 3D re-release back in 2012), but I immediately bought the VHS. My grandma and aunt actually went to the movies to see it, they hated it.

But obviously, I had my reservations in regards of the newest Star Wars flick, and my hopes to see an actual connection between this “new” vision, and the episodes I’ve learn to love these past couple years. So, you could say, I decided to give it a pass and accept what I was experiencing. Back then, having already 7 years, my judgement towards films wasn’t-let’s say- well defined.To me, if something belongs to what I already know, it was alright, but deep down, I knew something wasn’t right with this newest film, it didn’t feel the same. Was I set to become one of those folks that’ll limit themselves to what was already stablished rather than to accept new ideas and concepts inside a franchise set to expand? Well, thankfully, few years later I’ll understand it was all due to how poorly the film was crafted. Also... yeah, Jar Jar...

But not everything was that bittersweet. I fell in love with the franchise right before seeing Phantom... so by the time, all toy lines (Kenner, particularly) were everywhere from both, this newest episode and the original trilogy line, which endured several years afterwards, before the newest 2004 line. I acquire several other figures, and I was enjoying myself pretty much alright. I couldn’t wait for more, and only two episodes left, my childhood excitement grew exponentially by the realization that, soon, I’ll possess 6 VHS of my favorite saga ever (ha!). Like that, and continously buying as much merchandise as my parents were capable of, 2002 came along. The so-much-expected episode two came, and this was officially my first Star Wars film ever experienced on the big screen. Save your pity, please, I don’t need it.

I was aware, probably for the first time, of the quality decaying this franchise was suffering, probably the moment I saw Hayden Christensen portraying the long-expected-hero Anakin Skywalker. If I ever check a top 10 list of the worst casting choices ever made, this guy would probably be in the first 5 spots, easily. Even the toy-brand seemed... I don’t know, uninspired? Yeah, not much of a big change, but somehow I felt way attracted for the lines of episode 1 than this one. The starships never took my breath away (except for a fully renderized Slave I, the very first Original Trilogy starship brought back for these films), nor the aliens or the newest incursions of Jedi felt innovative or interesting enough. Probably the Clones, but I have to admit, my interest for this army came years later, when Genndy Tartakovsky’s The Clone Wars, as well as the Expanded Universe’s stories were release, in order to fill the gap left by Episode’s 2 need of ending at the very beginning of the long-awaited wars.

Another spark of honesty, I never watched the show on it’s innitial release, in 2003, since I never had cable, ergo, never saw Cartoon Network, even though I really wish I could’ve. My initiation with the short cartoon came a year later, and a year before the heavily anticipated release of Episode 3. The first time I did came around the show was at my highschool tutor’s house. Every day, after my school schedule, my mom sended me every afternoon to my tutor’s place, literaly, on the street behing mine’s. Why here? Easy, after finishing my whole homework (for the next day) we got some spare time before our moms (we were several other kids at the house), and that’s when, located at the livingroom basically identical to my place’s, my tutor’s son was watching some tv. He looked nerdy af, and what was he watching? No more and no less than the show’s second season, episode 19: Anakin VS Asajj Ventress.

After that, my next step was some of the best I’ve had in regards of the franchise: the Original Trilogy DVD release in 2004. Just as my dad did, back in 1997, in 2004 I spend my first Christmas with my dad’s family, and one of my presents (one of my all time favorites) was my very first DVD player, also, packed along the remasterization (one of many, Christ...) for the same format that launched also a brand new toy series better known as the Original Trilogy Collection from Hasbro. I was one step closer to fulfillment, and for the first time I had the Original Trilogy in my power. At the same time, my highschool’s best friend lend me the DVD of Tartakovsky’s series from 2003, recently launched in a compilation of the entire 20 episodes. That’s when I saw the whole show for the first time. Again, aside of my bitterweet experience with Episodes 1 & 2, I felt great passion towards Star Wars, once again.

My first Star Wars game also came in 2004, the same year I first acquire my Game Cube console, that meant I was finally able to buy Rebel Strike: Rogue Squadron 3 and I was pretty much at candy land. I played Rogue Squadron 1, for the Nintendo 64, a while ago, and I was pretty much addicted to the epic arcade game, located at a Peter Piper Pizza near my house. On the videogame background, this was the only thing I needed so far, until I realize of the existance of other games such as Battlefront, Jedi Academy-Outcast, and countless other elder games I never had the chance to play. Probably my official first Star Wars game was the PC exclusive, Dark Forces 2, but I never managed to finish it (I still hadn’t have the chance to, since I’m no longer able to play it), but overall, Roque Squadron 3 was everything I needed, surely I wouldn’t mind experience other stuff, specially when first realizing about the existance of the memorable Knights of the Old Republic, a game I considered for superior gamers back then.

2005 came, the first trailers for Revenge of the Sith were everywhere and dropped every 5 seconds. But that wasn’t just it. I was able to follow the weekly release of the Clone Wars Season 3, that was supposed to end the series right at the very beginning of Episode 3, which it did. My best friend and I saw the series finally together, at his place; pizza, soda and chips, the two of us excited for the finale and, oh boy, we were. With Revenge... it came my first official midnight release, something that’ll take a while to return to my life, mostly after highschool. My entire family and I went to the movie-theater, and it became one of my most beloved experiences in a movie, from my entire life. Back in the day, that movie gave me everything I wanted out of a franchise I followed. Every single plot-detail, every single arc, fanservice (which I didn’t know it was back then), and full circles leading to Episode 4 were there, in all their glory. And, the less I know, it hit me: this was my last Star Wars. Only two episodes at the movie theater, the rest experienced at home-video. Not that I regret anything, but its never easy to let go something so attached to our lives. If I only knew...

Not much to say about the next years. A new decade arrived. I was way past buying and collecting figures or vehicles, and in regards of the films, for some reason, I never acquired the prequels on DVD. Somehow I felt as if I was already complete with my Original Trilogy. I really wanted The Clone Wars series on DVD, but never managed to buy them, either for the lack of money, or I never found them at local stores (even nowadays its extremely difficult and expensive to get). In 2008, The Clone Wars came out... which was already extremely weird, considering some of the characters from the original animated series came back, like Asajj Ventress, and naturaly, since I ended my journey with the saga, I lost my entire interest for Star Wars material furthermore, I ignored it. Therefore, I never saw nor the movie or the newest 3D Animated show, created by Dave Filoni, a name I’ll learn to admire and respect almost a decade after. We’re talking a complete absence of interest for the franchise during a 4 year period until the impossible happened...

George Lucas, after a personal professional defeat, sold his epic and extremely profitable (still) franchise to Disney, now belonging executively speaking to Kathleen Kennedy, who immediately confirmed to the world what we all thought would never come: a brand new episodic installment in the franchise will eventually be made... continuing the events concluded on Episode 6 and completely throwing away everything that happened before the sale, that is, everything considered aside of the films, the former Expanded Universe, being the Clone Wars the only property still considered important and canon inside the newest Disney reign. Suddenly my love came back, just as it is when you’re in a marriage that is merely a dry relationship between to irrelevant individuals and then, out of nowhere, you remember how lucky you are of having that person by your side. But it wasn’t just me, the whole world went bananas, and everyone needed 2015 to arrive, as of now.

And so it did. The Force Awakens came on December of 2015. It quickly became one of the highest grossing films of all time. One of the most succesfull releases ever, Hollywood-speaking. Fans were excited, hopeful and, let’s be honest, fearfull for the upcoming results. We were still harmed for the prequels and we needed Star Wars to be what we loved in the first place. To me, it was, I felt like experiencing Star Wars for the first time in a long while. I felt that excitement, the struggle, the emotion and power I felt when watching my old VHS, back in the 90s. This was the worthy succesor I was expecting. Star Wars was everywhere and, once again, I felt like a five year old. Of course, my curiosity and dissappointment appear once I saw people felt... conflicted by this new episode. Somehow people really didn’t feel like enjoying something so reminiscent of the old-school franchise we all grow up loving, instead, they criticized the fact that “we didn’t got anything new” and the film relay so much on nostalgia and similarities to the original episodes. Of course I never felt that way, at least, not in a negative way.

But that didn’t matter! Hope was still foreseen and Disney also anounced their next installment as a prequel that’ll take place right before A New Hope (1977), and so, the first “A Star Wars Story” was meant to be released on December 2016. Rogue One was a blast, and unlike Force Awakens, it seemed this was what every single fan was expecting. Classic Star Wars, a brand new take on this world that’ll fill a gap left on episode 4 and, what we all agree was the best aspect of the film; a complete tone of war and battles worthy of any great moment in the franchise. People started to believe Disney was actually caring about the franchise future, and the horizon offered a bright looking for the next installments. We had Star Wars literally everywhere, and new films (both, episodic and spin offs) were already scheduled, also, bringin important names in the director’s chair for each one. Me, personally, I liked fine. I understood why people loved it, and I understood why this could easily foreshadow episode 7. Overall, I thought it was an excuse to showcase a pop-corn spectacle, but yeah, a pretty entertaining one, but non of the complexity and creativity from the originals were there, making it a little disposable for my taste. Regardless, I didn’t mind, and I felt as excited and hopeful as I was a year before it.

I guess I wasn’t entirely prepared for what came on 2017; the whole The Last Jedi controversy. Rian Johnson wasn’t that known, except for directing one of the favorite sci-fi flicks from 2012 and two of the best episodes of Breaking Bad. People either hated it, or just liked the film. Me? It’s hard to say but I enjoyed it pretty hard. The next episode got me hooked, invested and intrigued all the way through. At the midnight release, on December, I watched the film with my cousin and my best friend (who just finished watching the whole film-saga, and she became instantly a fan), and the three of us were dazzled all the way through. My realization came when I arrived home that night and found out, all my contacts on Facebook were ranting the hell out of it, specially the elder ones. I was confused and, downright, alone when it came to my joy towards Episode 8. The fandom lost their minds, and the hatred rised considerably againts the new direction given by Disney and Kennedy. Star Wars quickly stopped being what it was before; the saga we all had tons of fun discussing and talk about. Suddenly it became hard to talk about the saga, and the passion seemed to have been drained from it, something that I confirmed when Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) was released.

The second spin-off in the saga became the biggest box office flop for the franchise on that very same year and critics partially seemed to like it. For audiences it was as harmless and inconsequential, pretty much unlike the overall received of Rogue One. But, one thing was for sure; the franchise hype was starting to fade. From my own perspective, I started to lose interesting, but not for the same reason not-pleased fans were, but because I felt the polarization all over the place. Again, Star Wars wasn’t fun anymore.

However, and after the anouncement of Abrams returning to the franchise in order to conclude it, somehow I felt the excitement once again. Slowly, and once 2019 arrived, I slowly started acquiring new Star Wars merchandise, from the LucasArts videogames I wasn’t able to play back in the day, like Republic Commando, Battlefront 2 and Jedi Starfighter. Also, I got my 5 Black Series figures, from 2016 to date, being Ahsoka Tano my first, then Thrawn, General Kenobi, Darth Maul and the Second Sister. The trailers for The Rise of Skywalker were dropped and my hype was real. Also, Disney + would release the very first live action tv series on the saga, with The Mandalorian.

So, somehow, 2019 exploded in Star Wars, and I wasn’t the only one. On November, only a month-away for Episode 9, The Mandalorian made all of us fell in love with the franchise, making us feeling like we were discovering something that we needed and wanted at the same time. Also, people played Jedi Fallen Order, and everyone loved it, unfortunately for me, I haven’t got the chance to do it as well. Nevertheless, my amazement belonged completely to Jon Favreau’s The Mandalorian, with 8 episodes of aproximately 40 minutes each, and providing wonderful connection between Clone Wars and Rebels, this time, with the whole esthetic scenarios and props from the Original Trilogy, all this before watching the last Episode.

And so, the saga came to a supposed ending, at least, in regards of the Skywalker installments. That was it; no more title cards in the middle of the open space, no more drama between the Skywalker family, no more John Williams. Sigh. Well, for my eyes, I was partially pleased, but I had my issues. Call it an overall excess of expectations, call it non-blinded judgement, but there was something missing, something worthy of the franchise I have loved most of my life. It could’ve been better, for sure, and the commitment from the previous two was lacking. Abrams had the opportunity to go all the way with something memorable (something accomplished by Endgame, for example), but for what it was, it was just good enough. That’s it. My inner child never died, but wasn’t completely baffled or amazed. Serviceable, and that was it.

But that’s not the end, for me. I’m still acquiring the novels and comic books (which I started buying back in 2015), and my collection of figures and merchindise is still growing, slowly. Also, several tv-shows are scheduled to be release in the next years, so, Star Wars isn’t over. I’m still excited to see this franchise expanding, and my devotion hasn’t change a bit. I’m still a fan, despite the ups and downs. I guess when it comes to the Disney domain, I’m glad, considering Lucas didn’t wanted to direct or make any more sequels or spin-offs so, without the company’s purchase, Star Wars might still be a franchise entirely for the geeks, and being pretty much resting nowadays. I’m glad it is back, and I’m glad there’s more to explore, perhaps not as people wished, but there’s no denying, the saga may have concluded, but it is far from being over, or dead, and I’ll be there, experiencing it, consuming it, and being in love with it, pretty much, until I become one with the Force.

#starwars #fan #chronicle #starwarsfan

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fenrir-drifter · 5 years

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Inktober and projects updates

Edit: I dont know how to put a cut in a post on mobile. Sorry for the wall of text.

I'm getting super behind. Sometimes I can sketch stuff out, but I dont feel like inking it. Idk. I got the time, can't go back to work still, still looking for something new and better.

Shadow, Cyan, and Gau are all ready to be inked. Terra, Locke, Edgar, Sabin, and Celes are all done. I'm debating about when to post them here. Maybe do two batches of six drawings. I won't be drawing Umaro or Gogo until the very end, and that's also a big maybe. Maybe add General Leo and Kefka to that list too. After I get Setzer, Strago, Relm, and Mog inked, I'll start working on the Chrono Trigger cast.

As far as personal projects go, I've kind of taking a break from all of them. Between Inktober, stressing about bills and when I can go back to work, finding another/new job, and painting, it's hard to find time. Especially when you lump anxiety, depression, and RL chores and surprises into all of that.

The Witch's son - I had originally planned for this to be a webcomic and I have the plot outline more or less finished. I just got hung up on environment art and character designs. That being said though, I also have to rewrite the entire outline because I changed one key character for another. But really, those changes will be minimal. The biggest issue holding me back is probably a lack of confidence of my drawing ability for comics. After the character art and reference sheets are done, I need to thumbnail the entire outline, and work on paneling. I think I can do it, I'm just too nervous. On top of that I also keep thinking about prequel and sequel ideas, but I know I need to focus on this one project. My ultimate goal right now is to just get the prologue done. If it looks good and it gets some attention, then I'll keep working on it, if not then I'll come back later when I feel better about my drawing ability and work on it some more.

The Dirigible - I haven't worked on this project in years, and I don't know what I want it to be. I had thought about setting it in the same world as the witch's son, just to cut down world-building, locations, and all that, but I'm not 100% sure yet. I don't know if I want this to be a comic, or a short story, or a novel, or something else.

Fenrir Drifter - I've been doing some world building for this for quite a bit, but I'm getting hung up on key details that may or may not be relevant, I'm not sure yet. Things like race, origin stories, and deities. I had originally planned for there to be four races: human, dwarf, elf, and a winged race (like from Breath of Fire), but then I wanted to add an ancestor race to give the world more depth. My four main races would have evolved from these races and these four races were created by four Guardian deities who were in turn created by the Divine Beings (Gods) of the world. The ancestor races we're going to be more animalistic than normal, but I was having issues with that. The elves were going to evolve from a race of deer-men that I had called Wakiti, the winged race (which I have called the Wyn race) was going to evolve from a race of birds who live on floating islands (called the Seva), and I was going to have humans evolved from a race of wolfmen, and dwarves evolved from a race of black bears.

But I'm not really sure about any of this now.

I also had a magic system in place that would mimic some ideas from Saga Frontier 2, where magic is a natural life force that's in everything and sometimes condensed in physical objects called quells. These quells could be anything from a necklace to an axe, a suit of armor, or a ring. I would have divine quells that are direct blessings from the four Guardian deities. On top of this I would have a champion of each deity who would wield a quell.

I was also working on a world map, but I got bogged down in that too because I wasn't sure, everything looks too perfect, too clean. On top of this I had issues determining history, I don't like the idea of any race being evil, that just parallels racism in the real world imo. But I know it's not true because you could make a race of monsters and they would just be that, literal monsters. But I had issues with their creation, because every diving bring (god and guardian) is good. I didn't want to corrupt any of them either. I'll figure it out though, in due time, I'm sure.

Castlevania 1 hand drawn guide - My main goal is to just get stage 1 complete. A fully rendered map with every item and secret marked, custom art for monsters and bosses, tips for bosses, a splash art for the stage, and some other things. It's basically a glorified Players Guide/Manual. I got the idea from a guy that made guides like this for Contra, Ninja Gaiden, and is working on a Legend of Zelda guide. Really cool and inspiring stuff, imo.

I also have some ideas for altering some FF6 stuff and making it a custom story. After I read Seven Blades in Black, I felt really inspired to write again, and take my own twists on things. Along with that, I'm reading the Witcher books and replaying Witcher 3, and I want to write some fanfic with my own OC Witcher of the Griffin School.

Aside from that, watercolor landscapes still happen, but not very often. I haven't posted any of them anywhere yet though. I kind of want to build a backlog, I'm also feeling kind of both gunshy and disheartened about posting stuff anymore. Trying to power through that for Inktober.

Idk, felt good to ramble for a bit like that. I don't do it anymore and can't really do it on Twitter without feeling guilty for spamming people. Health's okay, still healing from surgery. Mostly just mental and social issues at this point. There might even be a chance that my student loan will be completely wiped out. If I could just fix my car (hit a deer), find my cat, and seek therapy, things would be too good to be true, lol.

One step at a time.

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gimmesumsuga · 6 years

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Sweeter than Sweet (70)

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: Nil of note

Word count: 3.7K

Previous / Next

Unfortunately, the discussion regarding your fragile mortality doesn’t proceed as well as you’d hoped.

Jimin at least hears you out; accepts and acknowledges that you becoming a vampire seems somewhat of an inevitability given the circumstances in which you find yourselves. He even goes so far as to agree that turning you would leave you far less vulnerable to whatever threat or revenge Namjoon may have in store.

And yet - despite this hearing all of this - Yoongi seems anything but keen.

As soon as the request passes your lips he’s shaking his head, and though he may not say anything the grim expression on his face tells you all you need to know. When you press for his opinion, he eventually accuses you of not understanding the gravity of your request; what it would really mean for you to join them in becoming a member of the undead. Forever is a long time, he says, and even as stubborn as you are, you know that he’s not wrong.

How can you understand fully, though, without walking in their shoes? You try to make him see it your way but your points of view are miles apart; Yoongi had spent so long anticipating an eternity of loneliness and unrequited love that he simply can’t envisage immortality meaning something so very different to you - even when his own reality has so recently undergone such a drastic change. For you, giving up your humanity would mean anything but the isolation he fears.

Jimin turns out to be the voice of reason, in the end. When the conversation turns stagnant and can go no further it’s he who draws it to a close, arguing that there’s no real rush to decide anything in the here and now. You’re still young - young enough to not look out of place at either of their sides - and it’s unclear as to whether Namjoon will pose any real threat now that he’s gone.

He promises that you’ll revisit the issue once the moment is right, and begrudgingly, you and Yoongi agree.

Given how heated your discussion had become, it takes a surprisingly small amount of time for you to fall asleep in their embrace once the three of you settle down. Perhaps it’s all the emotional upheaval of the past 48 hours that ensures your nap is so deep and dreamless, or makes you so difficult to rouse when Yoongi attempts to do so just a couple of hours later.

Then again, it might well be just the blood loss rendering you so groggy. That'd be a far more likely explanation as to why your vision swims when you roll over on your side to face him, blindly reaching for the hand that had so gently shaken you awake.

“Yoongi,” you groan, blinking slowly as you lift your face from the pillow, cheek rested on the palm of your hand. You swear your head never usually feels as heavy as it does now - full of ten tonnes worth of cotton wool.

The expression the vampire leaning over you wears is an unusually serious one, and this - along with your sudden realisation that Jimin is nowhere to be found - has you feeling instantaneously more alert. A fear grips your chest as you sit up far faster than is probably advisable, squeezing your chest tight.

“What's wrong?”

He can't have left, can he? Surely Yoongi wouldn't have let him go on some fool’s errand to try and enact vengeance on Namjoon all alone?

Registering the panic in your tone, Yoongi's stoic face softens. Dressed head to toe in black, he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to touch your face, reassuring you with a flash of a smile.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he soothes, and it's amazing what a calming effect just those two little words has on your heart rate. “Jimin’s gathering the others to tell them about Namjoon - we thought you ought to be there.”

“Right.” You blink, body and mind taking a moment to fall into sync. “Right - yeah - ok. Just give me a second to get dressed.” Perhaps realising you're still a little out of it Yoongi assists you in rising from the bed, both of your hands held tenderly in his to keep you steady.

He stays with you while you swiftly dress - throwing on any old thing you can find - and then quietly walks beside you down to the entrance hall, heels of his shoes clicking along the floor along the way. Yoongi seems distracted; still troubled by all the revelations that this evening has brought. You can't say you blame him. The atmosphere in the house feels far heavier than it normally does, far more subdued, but you suppose that’s to be expected, too. It’s not just you, Jimin and Yoongi that will still be feeling the after-effects of everything that happened last night.

You make a note to drop Sam a text message once all this is over and done. She’s probably worrying herself silly over you, no doubt.

“They’re upstairs,” Yoongi explains as his foot meets the first step of the staircase, gentle hand placed upon the rail. He pauses, head turning to look back at where you’ve come to a standstill at the base of the stairs. “Jimin’s been trying to get into Namjoon’s computer for the past half hour.” You nod, dragging your eyes off of the spot on the steps where Namjoon had been so ungainly sprawled across them just hours before, blood pouring from his nose.

Noticing the way colour has further begun to drain from your face at the memory, Yoongi disembarks the stairs and comes to your side, taking your hand.

“You don’t look good,” he observes, head tilting, “You should go back to bed.” Quickly, you shake yours and force a smile onto your lips.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, adding, “Honestly,” when he frowns back at you, ever the cynic.

Still, however much he might doubt you Yoongi pushes no further. He keeps your hand in his, though, as the two of you ascend the stairs, pausing once you reach the top for you to catch your breath, your pulse racing with the effort it takes for your heart to keep up with your body’s demands. As the two of you climb the smaller, winding staircase that will lead you to Namjoon’s room there’s a sense of trepidation growing inside you; a dread that has your pace slowing the closer you get to the top.

You’ve never set foot up here since the day you saw Namjoon kill that girl in amongst their throes of passion, and your stomach drops violently when you realise just how close you might’ve come to meeting that very same end. It’s only the sounds of voices up ahead and Yoongi’s fingers laced between yours that give you the strength and courage to keep placing one foot in front of the other; comforted by the familiarity of their murmured, dulcet tones.

When you finally arrive at the entranceway to Namjoon’s room you see that all of boys are already gathered there, dotted around the room perched on various pieces of furniture, waiting for your arrival with anxious looks upon their faces. Taehyung is the first to spot you as you cross the threshold, and there’s a hint of relief in the tone of his voice as he says your name aloud, a smile momentarily erasing the worry that’d been making him so deeply frown.

He abandons his spot next to Jungkook on the edge of Namjoon’s bed to rise and greet you, pulling you into a full-bodied hug before you’ve barely even had the chance to blink an eye. He squeezes you fiercely, and it’s all you can do to chuckle and pat his back in return, hoping he’ll relinquish you before you run out of air.

“How are you? Are you ok?” he asks as he pulls away, boyish features laden with concern, and of course, you nod.

“Been better, Tae, but I’ll be fine,” you assure him, smiling encouragingly. He nods, satisfied, but the palm of his hand remains planted solidly in the small of your back as the two of you walk forward to where Jimin is sat, his eyes fixed on a screen that’s attached to Namjoon’s desktop computer, fingers clacking away on the keyboard keys. You lean against the edge of the mahogany desk as Taehyung sits beside you, hoisting himself up onto the flat surface as you try very hard not to pay attention to the front cover of ‘Brave New World’ staring up at you from the opposite side of the desk - the same book that Namjoon had loaned to you what now feels like so very long ago.

Jungkook catches your eye from his seat on the bed and flashes you a small, gentle smile as he leans forward, elbows rested on his knees and hands clasped together in front of him. The feel of Jimin’s hand encroaching on your leg pulls your attention back to the computer screen, and as the other boys begin to murmur back and forth you quietly ask,

“Have you managed to find anything?” Jimin nods, his gaze fixed firmly in front of him, pouty lips pressed together in concentration as he reads, brows drawn down. If it weren’t for the gentle, absent-minded motion of his hand rubbing back and forth along your thigh you’d almost worry he was mad at you; so stern is his expression.

“Find what?” Taehyung jumps in, leaning across you to try and get a better view of the screen, the long earring dangling from his left ear swinging so close to your face that you have to flinch out of the way.

“What’s going on, Jimin?” Jin chimes in from across the room. He’s stood, arms folded, with his back against Namjoon’s dresser, and for once he looks just as serious as everyone else in the room.

Sighing, Jimin turns away from the computer and swivels around to face six expectant pairs of eyes. Yoongi comes to rest on the opposite side of the desk - your bodies framing Jimin on either side of the chair in which he sits - and breathes deep.

“Namjoon betrayed us,” Yoongi states simply, and there’s not a single face around the room that manages to remain unaffected.

“Is this about last night?” Hobi asks, stepping forward as his eyes glance to you and then return to Yoongi, “We were all there - we all saw.” Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, but Jimin intercepts him.

"It’s more than that,” he says bluntly, looking up from where he’d been staring at the hands he’d had folded in his lap, “He’d struck a deal with the rivals of one of the organisations we usually work for, and in return for Namjoon’s guarantee that we’d no longer meddle in their affairs, they’d agreed to use the information he’d provided to make sure Yoongi and I never made it home.”

“What information?” It breaks your heart to see the hurt and confusion in Jungkook’s usually sweet eyes as he asks that, wringing his hands together.

“Everything they’d need to know for how to best put us down,” Jimin replies, and at that Hobi strides forward and begins to scroll through the long back and forth of emails Jimin had pulled up onto the screen, his jaw clenched tight.

“Why would he do that?” Taehyung asks, folding his arms around his torso as though to hold himself tight. “Did he tell them what we are?” You notice the way his eyes dart to the screen and you find yourself reaching out to comfort him on instinct, placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing. He’s obviously remembering what’d happened the last time their true natures had been discovered and already looks visibly upset at the thought of it, his soft eyes turning glassy with unshed tears.

“Because he was jealous,” Yoongi says gruffly, folding his arms, “Selfish.”

“But no, he didn’t tell them exactly what they were up against - not in quite so many words,” Jimin continues, and as this new revelation sinks in there’s a moment or two of silence in which all that can be heard is Hoseok clicking at the mouse, swearing under his breath. You lean forward off of the desk and cross over to take the space that Taehyung was previously sat in, feeling a little dizzy after attempting to stand for too long.

You wish you could ignore the smell of Namjoon’s cologne that wafts up into the air from the duvet on which you sit, or the way Jungkook’s eyes momentarily linger on the vicious marks left upon your neck.

“So what night when-”

“Exactly. That was his plan that almost got us both killed,” Jimin confirms in answer to Hoseok’s opening question, and the elder vampire swears again as he straightens up, running a hand through his hair. “But as far as I can make out… I don’t think they should pose a threat. There was very little correspondence between them and Namjoon after they’d failed.”

“That’s good, right?” Jungkook pipes up, and although Jimin nods his head you can’t help but note the hint of uncertainty that lingers in his eyes, nor the way he won’t quite meet anyone’s gaze.

"I presume so. We’ll need to be more careful from now on, though, and we need to need to have a serious look into who it is he’s had us working for all this time. Namjoon’s been hiding things.”

“Like what?” you ask, and when Jimin looks back at you he shifts in his seat, something that looks an awful lot like guilt entering his expression.

“Like the fact he’s been hiring us out as protection for men wanted for human trafficking, amongst other things.”

“What?” Jin asks sharply, folded arms falling to his side. He looks appalled - they all do, in fact - and Jimin can only nod wearily as he turns back to the screen. He stares at it, scrolling mindlessly with the mouse wheel up and down.

“I haven’t been able to go through it all yet. There’s too many files over too many years, but we need to go through and weed out all the shady connections he’s made.” Jimin runs a hand through his hair roughly, sighing once more. “I don’t know about you guys, but there’s no way I’m working for someone like that. I’d rather we starve.”

“That won’t happen. Since you and Yoongi have been getting your blood elsewhere and -” Jin’s eyes pass briefly over Hobi, but when the graceful vampire awkwardly rubs the back of his neck the eldest of the group thinks better than to mention the fact that he also alternate blood supply these days. It probably wouldn’t go down well if everyone else finding out that Sam knows about them, too. In fact, you’re surprised that even Jin’s aware of it. “We’re in excess, right now.”

“Good,” Jimin nods, “That’s good.”

The room falls quiet and beside you, Jungkook is picking at the frayed edges of his jeans where they’re ripped at the knee, obviously troubled.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” you hear him mumble, jaw clenching as he blinks in quick succession as though he’s trying to hold back tears. Overcome with sympathy, you shuffle closer to him and wrap both arms around his nearest bicep, pressing your face to his shoulder and squeezing tight.

“I know,” you soothe, feeling him breathe hard and deep against you in an exaggerated sigh. You look up when you feel his large palm come to rest on the crown of your head, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth, and when your eyes meet Jungkook smiles hesitantly back at you, grateful for the affection you’ve given so freely. It’s hard not to feel guilty about the yellowing bruise that’s still visible on his jaw, but at least you can take some comfort in knowing his marks will fade a hell of a lot faster than yours.

“- No, no thanks - not me.” You drag yourself away from the warmth Jungkook’s gaze to look over at Jin, stood at the foot of the bed decisively shaking his head to whatever it was the others have just been discussing.

“Someone needs to do it,” Yoongi persists, eyes narrowed, “Someone needs to take charge.”

“Why not you, then?” Jin replies just as quick, irritation colouring his tone, “I don’t hear you volunteering.” Yoongi huffs quietly, posture tense, but when Jimin’s hand finds its way onto the dark-haired vampire’s thigh you notice Yoongi’s shoulders begin to sag, glancing down to Jimin with a shy, secret smile. “You’re-”

“I’ll do it.” Hobi’s sudden declaration catches everyone off guard, and as six heads snap round to face him he suddenly looks uncertain, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “If you want. Like you said -” He glances at Yoongi, shrugging his shoulders, “- Someone's got to take over… even with Joon gone, we still need to work. We still need to eat.”

“As long as you're sure,” Jimin nods, and Hoseok shrugs again, flashing an uneasy smile.

“I think you'll make a good leader,” Tae chips in sweetly, and on hearing such encouraging words Hobi's smile suddenly grows, shining brighter, the floor creaking as he rocks forward onto the balls of his feet with a little bounce of pleasure.

“Me too,” you add further, and you really mean it. Although Hoseok may often portray himself as a somewhat simple creature - full of frivolity and not much else - you know underneath it at all is a man who thinks long and hard about the things he says and the choices he makes. He's just very good at making it look as though he doesn't; preferring to play the joker to keep everyone else's spirits high.

You trust him, though; implicitly. There's a difference between illegal and immoral, and you know him well enough to know that Hoseok will be able to tell the difference when it comes to the kind of jobs that come their way from now on.

“And if it's money that you're worried about, I still want to look at taking that bar job,” you continue, ignoring the curl of a smirk that appears on Yoongi’s lips at the mere suggestion that they might be in any way strapped for cash.

“You don't need to worry about that,” Jimin dismisses but again you speak up, unwilling to let the matter lie.

“But I want to. I'm so dependant on all of you - cooped up in this house all the time - it'll do me good to have something that's all my own.” Jimin leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing as his brows furrow in thought, index finger pressed to his lips.

“But we like taking care of you,” Taehyung says, not bothering to hide the hurt on his face, “Don't you like it here?”

“Of course I do!” you quickly reply, hoping to assuage any doubts that they may have. You see Jungkook frowning beside you, looking just as confused as Taehyung does, and you grab his hand to pull it into your lap, clasping it between your own. “I love it here! It'd just be nice to get out once in a while… feel like I'm contributing a little.”

It's almost amusing, the way everyone seems to defer to Jimin for the deciding vote, unsure faces turning his way. He regards you for a moment longer, tapping that finger against his bottom lip thoughtfully, but just when you think he's about to pass judgement he abruptly swivels to face Hobi, away from you.

“What do you think, hyung?” Hobi looks a little taken aback at first - having Jimin look to him for leadership - but he soon recovers, squaring his shoulders and glancing at you. You smile as prettily as you possibly can back at him, very nearly batting your eyelashes in hopes that he'll take your side.

“I don't see the harm in it, so long as we take precautions.” Good ol’ Hobi - always coming through. You'll have to tell Sam to give him an extra special treat the next time she stays the night.

Before you have time to celebrate too hard, though, he fixes you with a stern look, one eyebrow raised.

“But if there's even the slightest hint of trouble, or any sign of Namjoon-"

“I know, I understand,” you say agreeably, nodding your head. Honestly, you're just pleased that he's given it the go-ahead at all to go arguing the terms and conditions.

“That's settled then,” Jin concludes, and yet, despite the finality of his statement, the atmosphere still feels just as heavy as it did when you arrived - even after all that's just been said. It’d be unrealistic, you suppose, to expect it to just bounce back to the way it had been before. It'll take a while for all that's happened to sink in and for everyone to get used to this new found status quo.

Jimin calls Hobi over to his side to start showing him all that he's found while the rest of the vampires present begin to disperse; Yoongi announcing that he's going back to bed as Taehyung challenges Jin to a game of pool. You, however, remain firmly sat on Namjoon’s bed, preoccupied with wonderings of how best you might be able to put this right.

You could all do with something to help take your mind off of everything's that happened - a distraction to lighten the mood and give you something else to focus on - and as it happens, you're certain you know just the thing.

“Jungkook,” you call after him, rising from the bed far faster than you should to rush after him and grabbing a hold of his hand as soon as he's within reach to keep him from preceding any further down the hallway without you.

“What's wrong?” he asks, looking mildly alarmed by the excited expression that greets him when he turns back to face you, squeezing your hand. Blinking away the dizziness that's blurring the edges of your vision, you smile.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

#bts #sweeter than sweet #bts vampire au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jimin x reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #vampire!jimin #vampire!yoongi #vampire!hoseok #vampire!jin #vampire!taehyung #vampire!jungkook #vampire!namjoon

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maliwarm · 5 years

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Back

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@writeblrs April prompts, day 4

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It was always like this with them... Copy and original, duking it out to the death. They had always been on close to even footing, with him barely coming out on top as the eventual victor each and every time, thanks in no small part to the assistance of others for many of those instances. But the playing field had started tipping more and more with every passing year. He was getting slower. But Krizalid only seemed to be getting faster.

A scream ripped from K’’s throat, almost drowning out the snap of bone. He writhed and thrashed from his pinned position, free hand clawing at metal floor. His nails might be bleeding from how hard he was scratching, he wasn’t sure, too preoccupied by the pure unbridled agony radiating from his other arm.

“You know,” Krizalid said conversationally, as though he were talking about the weather with an old friend, rather than slowly twisting K’’s mangled arm behind his back, drawing out fresh screeches. “It doesn’t matter anymore that I’m the copy. I’ve come to terms with it, and I’m fine with it.”

Tears blurred his vision. He could barely make out the pair of small, bloodied forms he’d been trying to protect through their glossy sheen. Asahi and Emi remained completely unmoving, thoroughly beaten to unconsciousness. They hadn’t been prepared for this. He hadn’t expected them to be prepared for this. Children of two of KoF’s longest standing veterans or no, eleven year olds weren’t supposed to fight a high level NESTS officer, let alone the one that had been cloned from him. K’ could only blame himself for the situation, even if Krizalid’s appearance was an event completely out of his control. Kyo and Benimaru had entrusted the safety of their children to him, trusting him to keep them safe, and he’d failed them. Now their young lives were in jeopardy.

“If being the original entails becoming so weak, I think I’m more than fine with being the fake.” White stole K’’s vision as his arm was violently wrenched upwards. He could feel the broken bone segments grinding against each other nauseatingly. He couldn’t even tell if he was still screaming or not; there was just the pain. Eventually, his abused limb was dropped, Krizalid scoffing while he tried to bite down on his whimpers. “Why, just look at you... You’re a pathetic shell of yourself, starting to fall apart at the seams. It’s hardly worth the effort exerting myself against you anymore.”

The line between consciousness and oblivion was straddled desperately. K’ tried to focus on his own breathing, choppy and thin, to keep himself awake. The kids. He had to protect them. He couldn’t do that if he blacked out.

Booted footsteps faded. Something metallic groaned then clanked loudly far away, echoing some in the dark space. He was barely aware of these things happening until the footsteps grew louder once more, prompting him to blink away the encroaching darkness with more vigour.

“It’s high time I put you out of your misery. I’d be doing the both of us a favour, really; I imagine you won’t be keen to reach the age where you vegetate and shit yourself, no? It would be an amusing fate to bear witness to, certainly. But one that is most ill befitting of you.” Something smacked meatily against Krizalid’s palm a few times. “No. I have something far better in mind...”

K’ wasn’t sure if he heard the blow or felt it first. Either way, there was a sickening squelch as something pierced through leather, skin, and muscle just below a shoulder blade. Whatever the object was, it was long, and had been driven through him with enough force to jam itself into the floor with a harsh screech, juddering inside him. However loud he’d been screaming beforehand couldn’t compare to the shriek that was now ripping from his throat.

He lay panting and choking soft sobs in the aftermath. Eyes screwed shut. The occasional tremor running through his body jiggled the metal slightly, drawing even more whimpers through tightly clenched teeth.

Charred fabric wafted into his nostrils on a small breeze, heavy fabric whispering. Warm breath puffed against his ear, though the accompanying tone was downright frigid in comparison. “I’m going to destroy what few things you care about that you have left, right before your eyes, before I kill you. I think I’ll start with those little eyesores.”

Blue eyes snapped open at that, just in time to watch the ends of Krizalid’s purple coat slide from view, the man himself rising back into a stand.

K’ began to struggle, seeking to rise, but only aggravating his injury. Pained mewls were choked out with every new lance of pain radiating from the stab site, but he only fought harder to rise. His unbroken arm trembled, straining against the floor to push himself upwards. To move. To help. To protect.

“Don’.... don’ tou— argh!” He could see some of what had been jammed into him now. Thin but sturdy piping, ripped clean from the base’s wall, the end having crumpled the steel floor inwards with the sheer force with which it had been jammed through him. A touch of translocation had probably aided in that. Blood slid down the surface of the pipe, oozing in more and thicker trickles the more he continued to struggle. “Get a-away from them... bastard...!”

Krizalid raised an arm. Crimson flame burst to life around it in an instant, snapping at the air hungrily. He didn’t turn at K’’s shouts, eyes trained solely on Asahi’s and Emi’s prone forms.

“Krizalid...” Icy fingers of dread clawed at his heart. The pipe slid nauseatingly through him as he shoved himself higher. But not by much. Not enough. Now panic was rearing its ugly head, edging into his words. “You stay the hell away from them. Y’hear me?!”

Asahi was a cocky little shithead, just like his dad. And Emi the complete opposite of hers, apart from that irritating need to stick her nose in others’ business. But they were good kids. More importantly, they didn’t have anything to do with the long running feud between clone and source.

“No... no, no, no...” His right arm kept throbbing like it had its own heartbeat, but it wouldn’t even twitch when he willed it to. His only method of channeling his powers, rendered completely useless. It was his worst fear come true. Without his fire he couldn’t do anything; couldn’t protect anyone. “Don’t you dare...!”

That arm slashed downwards, flames sweeping to follow in a flaring comet trail.

“NO!!!”

Cold metal closed around his shoulder. “H-hey, snap out of—“

K’’s eyes shot wide open. A backfisted swing was already on its way, clinging panic triggering his fight or flight response before he was fully awake.

There was a startled yelp before knuckles met metal, pain radiating from them all the way up to his forearm.

In an instant the image of the rundown NESTS base faded, drab greys and darkness traded in for sunlight and tacky, peeling wallpaper.

And Frag, staring down at him with wide eyes.

“Wh... what the fuck! You trying to kill me or something, you crazy geezer?!”

K’ blinked, slow and confused, until comprehension dawned. What he’d seen had already happened; a dream of events past. Asahi and Emi were fine; they’d made it out of that base alive thanks to a last minute appearance of their fathers and subsequent chasing off of Krizalid. It had been a close shave, but they were all alive here and now, scars healed, a good six-odd years later. They were probably in the middle of school or training or something right this moment. And he... he was on his stomach on the bed of a motel he barely remembered checking into last night, freshly woken by his young clone.

Slowly, his fist was retracted, knuckles still throbbing, but paid no heed.

“Jesus, kid...” He smeared that palm down his face to hide how badly it was shaking. “Don’t do that again. ‘S not safe; I could’ve broken your nose.”

Or killed him on accident.

“Well sorry for caring about you,” Frag snapped, bristling. He straightened abruptly, turning on his heel and storming away. Though he paused briefly in the doorway to shoot him a filthy look over his shoulder. “Next time you start crying in your sleep, don’t expect me to snap you out of it, asshole.”

The door was slammed, leaving K’ alone to his thoughts and the sight of shitty wallpaper.

#Bite’s writing #King of Fighters #KoF #K’#K’ Dash #K Prime #Krizalid #King of Fighters OC #KoF OC #K-Fragor #K’Frag #Asahi Kusanagi #Emi Nikaido #writeblrs #cagedbirdprompts #cagedbirdprompts2019 #blood #jhfxgjhc I keep finishing these late but this one at least came way easier than the last

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nomettesbizzareadventure · 6 years

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JotaKak Week Day 1: Art

After the end, after Egypt, after Dio, after all the hotel beds and bruised knuckles and all the times Jotaro and Kakyoin stayed up late into the night talking because neither of them could sleep, Jotaro goes home. Kakyoin doesn’t. Kakyoin goes into an ambulance, and then to the hospital. It doesn’t occur to Jotaro to ask after him for the first week, tired and weary of everything as he is, but after the second he starts to wonder. It’s weird being back in Japan. Part of him expects to find another stand user in his backyard or look around the corner and see that Abdul and Polnareff are there, but it’s just him and Holly and the big empty estate, the same as always. The first time he turns on the TV, part of him wants to turn to Kakyoin and say hey, sumo’s on, wanna come watch? But no one’s there.

Jotaro thinks about calling his grandfather, about calling the hospital, but what good would it do? He’s not a healer. Whether the news is good or bad, he can’t do anything but wait. Thinking about it puts a little knot of anxiety in his stomach, so he puts the thought down and wanders through the house, lost. Star Platinum follows at his back. The two of them end up in front of a mirror in Jotaro’s room, and he peers at his reflection. His bruises still haven’t fully healed. His shoulders are still stiff where Dio’s knives carved a gash through his muscles, and all he wants to do is sleep.

The next morning, Kakyoin calls for the first time. Holly brings the phone to Jotaro, telling him that it’s a friend, and Jotaro hurries over to the wire and picks up, half-afraid that it’ll be some idiot from his school. But it’s not.

“Jojo?” Kakyoin asks, and Jotaro’s voice sticks in his throat. Unbidden, the memory of how Kakyoin looked when he was being loaded into the ambulance comes to him, and he has to take a deep breath before he can speak.

“Yeah,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve got too many operations in my future, and they won’t let me out of bed, but yeah- I’m okay,” Kakyoin says.

“Good,” Jotaro manages.

“How are you?” Kakyoin asks. Jotaro’s first instinct is to grunt that he’s fine, but then he remembers that it’s Kakyoin on the line. They’ve never needed to lie to each other about their opinions.

“I’m bored, I’m still bruised, I keep thinking an enemy stand is going to attack, and Mom’s using every single bit of her newfound energy to hassle me night and day,” Jotaro says. Kakyoin laughs even though Jotaro didn’t mean it to be funny, but he doesn’t mind.

“I’ll trade you,” Kakyoin says. “The Speedwagon Foundation told my parents I was kidnapped in order to sell my organs and then didn’t tell me about it, so I found out about my tragic kidnapping when my Mom and Dad busted in the room and started interrogating me about it.”

Jotaro laughs. It’s a short sound, almost a bark, and it surprises him. He doesn’t think he’s laughed since they left Cairo.

“Dio, organ trafficker,” he says.

“Yeah, it’s stupid,” Kakyoin says. “People keep telling me I’m so brave for enduring all of that and I just keep thinking about the time I got turned into a puppet after losing at a video game or the time Polnareff fell asleep and we took turns seeing how many pens we could fit in his hair.” It takes Jotaro a moment to realize that he’s smiling. The motion feels unfamiliar, like his face isn’t used to it.

“You are brave,” Jotaro says, and immediately regrets it. There’s a moment of silence, and then Kakyoin chuckles.

“You’re pulling your hat down over your face right now, aren’t you?” Kakyoin asks. Jotaro is, and the fact that Kakyoin knows it makes him scowl. He doesn’t reply.

“For a delinquent, you’re a big nerd,” Kakyoin tells him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. How are the sumo prelims going? I don’t have a TV in my room.”

“They’re going fine,” Jotaro mutters. “There’s a new rookie that’s pretty good.”

“Yeah? How is Chionofuji doing?” This, Jotaro can talk about.

“They’re saying he’s going to retire after this year.” After sumo, they move to talking about school, about the hospital, about their stands, about things they’d like to eat and about Kakyoin’s plans for when he moves back to Japan. Apparently he lives nearby, close enough that he’ll be able to walk to Jotaro’s house. His parents are engineers. They’ve been to some of the same restaurants and seen the same sights, though it seems like Kakyoin’s memories of his time under the fleshbud are a little blurry.

“When you come back, we’ll go to that restaurant together,” Jotaro finds himself saying.

“Good,” Kakyoin says, and then he laughs. “It’s one am here.” They’ve been talking for almost three hours. “I should probably go to sleep.” Jotaro hesitates, the silence stretching between them, and then Kakyoin speaks.

“When are you free?” he asks.

“Any time,” Jotaro replies. “I don’t really leave the house.”

“Jojo…” Kakyoin says, and nothing else. “I’ll call you soon, then.” Jotaro doesn’t know what else to say, so he hangs up. After the trip, it felt like a relief to return to the silence of his house, but now it feels too quiet. There’s nothing to do in the house. He thinks about what it would be like to sit in a hospital room day after day with nothing but his own stand for company, and he thinks about the way Kakyoin sounded when Jotaro spoke to him over the phone. That night, he leaves the Kujo estate for the first time since he got back from Egypt and walks to his favorite ramen place. It’s as good as he remembers. He thinks Kakyoin will like it.

Kakyoin calls again two days later, and the miracle of the three hour phone call is repeated. Jotaro didn’t think he had that much to say, but it doesn’t matter. Half of the call is just companionable silence, Kakyoin sketching while Jotaro watches TV, the two of them occasionally speaking when they remember something else that they’ve got to say.

“I’ll tell the old man to get you a TV in your room,” Jotaro says, “and then we can watch stuff at the same time.”

“Rich kid, aren’t you?” Kakyoin says, and Jotaro doesn’t deign to answer. Three days later, Kakyoin calls again with news that the TV has been installed, and after that it becomes tradition for them to watch sumo together when it’s on. Kakyoin’s calls become a marker for Jotaro to measure time by, and then one day Kakyoin closes the call by announcing that he’s got a big operation the next day and won’t be calling for some time. Jotaro doesn’t mean to count the days, but it’s hard not to. One, two, three, four. On the fifth day, he gets a postcard. Kakyoin must have sent it weeks before, when the phone calls started. There’s a little Star Platinum posing with Hierophant Green drawn on the back. Jotaro pins it up in his room. On the sixth day, he gets a postcard from the store and takes it back to the study, and without meaning to, he calls on Star Platinum. And then he draws.

It gets to be a routine. Every day that Jotaro doesn’t get a call from Kakyoin, he buys a postcard and has Star Platinum inscribe a memory on it. He draws Cairo. He draws Joseph. He draws Polnareff. He draws the way the mist hung over the valley of Enyaba’s graveyard and the heat shimmers over the Saudi Arabian desert. But mostly, he draws Kakyoin.

Eleven days after the last call, the phone rings.

“Jojo?” Kakyoin sounds tired, but he’s alive.

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says. “What’s your address?”

He only sends one of the postcards. But the next day, when Kakyoin doesn’t call- and he never calls two days in a row- Jotaro goes to the store and buys a sketchbook. It’s been a long time. Sometime, in his sketches, Kakyoin’s face is blurred, and there are some things he’d like to forget, but there are also things he’d like to remember.

It’s April when Kakyoin comes back to Japan. Jotaro goes with Holly to the airport expecting his grandfather to be there, but when the plane lands and the people start to come down the escalators it’s not Joseph standing there. It’s Kakyoin. Jotaro’s run up to him before his body knows what it’s doing, and then he stops short, unsure what to say.

“Jojo,” Kakyoin says, smiling, and then he hands Jotaro a postcard. “I thought I’d deliver it myself.” Holly sweeps down on the two of them and sweeps Kakyoin into a hug, and in the excitement Jotaro sweeps the postcard into his pocket and doesn’t think about it. They go out to an Izakaya together, and Kakyoin is polite and cheerful and quietly mean in the way that only he can manage. He tells jokes to Jotaro quietly while Holly is talking to the waiter and makes both of them laugh. Jotaro hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing him face to face.

After dinner, Holly drives them all back to the Kujo estate. It’s not until they’re pulling into the driveway that Jotaro remembers the drawings piled up in his room. The idea of Kakyoin seeing them alarms him enough that Star Platinum flickers into existence, and he has to distract Kakyoin by asking him about his parents. Once they’re inside, he manages to steer Kakyoin away from his room and into the study, but there’s a drawing there too, a picture of Kakyoin as Jotaro remembers him from all their nights together in impersonal hotel rooms. Jotaro spent a long time on this one, trying to render the way Kakyoin’s hair curled across the pillow and the way his body tapered into his tiny waist, the way he smiled. Jotaro sketched this the day after Kakyoin’s major operation, and he remembers losing himself in the repetitive cross-hatching and the lines. He remembers flinching when the phone rang and praying to himself that it wouldn’t be bad news. It’s not a good picture. Jotaro’s not an artist, not like Kakyoin, but he’d wanted to make something. He’d wanted to prove to himself that he still remembered Kakyoin’s face.

Kakyoin looks at the picture a long time.

“Look at the postcard in your pocket,” he says at last, and Jotaro fishes it out. The front is the image of some random place in Cairo. The back is a picture of him and Kakyoin. In it, the two of them are seated at a ramen bar, clearly in the middle of talking to each other. Kakyoin is gesturing with one hand, and Jotaro is listening intently. Under the table, their hands are interlinked, Jotaro’s palm shielding Kakyoin’s in the sort of soft, casual gesture Jotaro’s seen between couples a hundred times. The lines there are dark and repeated, as if the artist put particular care into drawing that motion.

Jotaro looks up and finds that the real Kakyoin is watching him, his face flushed, his stand winding around him in the way it does when Kakyoin is nervous.

“It looks good,” Jotaro manages. A single step puts him face to face with Kakyoin, close enough that’s it’s more effort not to touch than to touch. Kakyoin’s face is flushed, but he’s not looking away from Jotaro. He looks a little scared, and a little hopeful, but he doesn’t back away. Jotaro takes his hand.

“I wanted to give you something in person too,” Jotaro says. Kakyoin is so close. He tips his chin upwards and the postcard flutters to the floor, forgotten, as Jotaro and Kakyoin share their first kiss.

Written for Jotakak Day 1, for the prompt of ART!

#jotakak #jotakak week #Jotaro Kujo #Noriaki Kakyoin #kakyoin is more the artist #but i've always wanted to see Jotaro do something with Star Plat's ability to just print images directly from Jotaro's brain #also first kisses!!!#im gonna try and do every day of jotakak week wish me luck #a nomette writes

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girlafraidinacoma · 5 years

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In The Lap of the Gods: Chapter Three - ‘Don’t Forget to Smile!’

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character [chill guys, this WILL be a Bri fic…eventually].

Warnings: ummm mentions alcohol??? That’s it.

Words: 1.7k+

Author’s Note: They finally meet!!!! So I made cover art for the fic, I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did making it. As always, feel free to comment, reblog or leave a like it if you want.

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

[Link to the Ao3 fic!]

Chapter Playlist:

1. Ramble On - Led Zeppelin 2. Hello, I love You - The Doors

Chapter Three - 'Don't Forget To Smile!'

London, 1969.

It all started with a couple of drawings. Pencil or charcoal drawings, quick studies of hands, profiles of people and renders of the view of the street from the flat Roger and Freddie shared. They sat in a small pile in their living room, under a couple of magazines that Brian had been perusing to pass the time. What had caught his eye however was a detailed portrait of Jimi Hendrix with his Stratocaster. It wasn’t just on some scrap bit of paper either, it was made on thick stock, the kind that artists used, and it had rough edges as if it were originally a larger piece of parchment that was carefully divided into several A4 pages.

Jimi was dressed in an open flowy shirt and had his eyes closed in concentration, the light from above him casted deep shadows upon his face. It didn’t look like Fred’s handiwork, and he had seen numerous other ones he had done before. There was a distinct impression on the bottom right hand corner of the page, the artist’s initial he would have guessed; it was a long and swooping line like the body of a snake and formed a slanted capital 'W'. Brian didn’t really know much about art, and was more comfortable measuring the distance between stars, or better, fluffing about on his guitar, but he decided he liked it very much.

“Rog,” he said, calling the attention of the man currently buttering a piece of toast in the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

Brian sidled up to his friend, showing what he had in his hand, “Is this yours?”

“Hm?” Roger turned his gaze at the drawing, swallowing the bread he was chewing he said, “No, a friend of mine drew that.”

“Do you think-- Could I have it?” Brian asked sheepishly, his eyes still admiring the pencil work.

“Good isn’t it? I’ve got one of Jane Fonda in my room,” he grinned with a wiggle of his brows, “Yeah, don’t think she’d mind, she leaves loads round here.” His friend had turned back to his meal, slathering more jam on his toast.

“Thanks.” Brian said, pleased.

Weeks later, after he’s hung his favorite new picture up on his bedroom wall at home, Brian was back at Fred and Roger’s place, hoping to talk to the blonde about their upcoming gig that week. The door to their flat was unsurprisingly not locked, still he gave a short knock at the door to warn people of his entrance. He had made the mistake twice or three times before of walking in on Roger with a lady friend. Why he hadn’t taken them to his room or at least locked the door, was beyond Brian’s comprehension. He suddenly felt a great sympathy for Freddie whom had to live with Roger’s antics on the daily.

What he was met with inside however was a lulling pitter-patter of percussion, and the warm strum of an electric guitar over Robert Plant’s familiar vocals. Neither Fred nor Roger was anywhere to be seen, but someone had left the record player on. The music of Zeppelin was like a balm to Brian’s ears as Page’s guitar played the quick rise and fall of notes on the fretboard. He made a beeline to the player in the living room, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He was so engrossed in his study of the vinyl jacket that he failed to notice the other person in the room.

“Can I help you?” a voice from the armchair asked.

Brian whipped around so fast he had dropped the empty vinyl sleeve. He had a hand to his chest and he felt his hammering pulse beneath his shirt. “Sorry,” he said, going for the item he had dropped. “I didn’t see you there.”

The person smiled at him from where she sat, eyes dancing at his priceless expression having been so caught off-guard. It was a woman, close to his age, and she had a purple scarf tied around her wavy brown hair which cascaded down her shoulder. She sat sideways in her seat and her lean legs were draped over one arm of the chair while her back was supported by the other. Her feet were angled towards the end table with the stack of magazines. Despite the way she had so casually perched on Freddie’s armchair, she was holding herself so easily and so regally that she could have been Cleopatra on her throne.

“Er, I was looking for Rog?” Brian answered in reply to her initial question.

“He’s still asleep.”

“Right, right.” Brian nodded, his gaze flickering over to the door of Roger’s room. Of course he’d still be asleep, it was only half past twelve after all. He took the seat across from her on the sofa. “I’m --”

“You’re Brian, aren’t you?” she finished for him.

“Sorry,” he said, apologising once more. “Have we met? I thought I’m usually better at remembering these things.” Brian was scratching his curly head trying to put her face to a name.

“No, no. Only Roger mentioned he was in a band and that he had a friend called Brian who played guitar. Dark curly hair, tall, lacks fashion sense, lost puppy-dog eyes.”

“Rog said I looked like a... puppy ?”

The girl chuckled, “Just my observation.” Her tone was cheeky, but not unkind.

“Oh,” he said with a blush.

“I’m only playing,” she laughed, there was a rosy tinge to her cheeks. “I like your eyes, they’re very nice; and I don’t think you’ve got terrible taste in clothes.”

“Um, thanks.” He said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He didn’t think that she was lying; though looking down at his simple pinstripe button down and dark trousers ensemble, and knowing his eyes to be a rather plain blue, Brian thought himself to be rather unremarkable.

“Could afford to pop open a few buttons though,” she mused, “And maybe roll up the sleeves?” Her brown eyes, a shade or two deeper than her hair, sparkled in the early afternoon light. He might have blamed Led Zeppelin, or maybe the way her hair fell around her like a halo, it may have been due to the fact that her eyes had never left his during their entire interaction thus far, or perhaps it was a combination of all of these things, but Brian was utterly smitten.

“I um, appreciate the pointers.”

“Sometimes all it takes is a fresh perspective.” The girl said with warmth.

Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air 'Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair But Gollum, and the evil one Crept up and slipped away with her, her, her, yeah Ah, there's nothing I can do now I guess I'll keep on

They spend the next minute or so in relative quiet, happy to let the song speak for them. That was...until Brian next chose to open his mouth, “So, you're...here for Rog?” It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

“Hmm?” The girl raised her eyebrows.

“You and Rog, you’re-- here f-for him -- with - with him?” Put one beautiful girl in front of him and the astrophysics major is reduced to a stuttering idiot. His fingers tapped on his knees anxiously, he sees her lips press into a thin line and her eyes grow stormy.

“Right, because men and women can’t ever just be friends?” Her accusation was followed with his dumbfounded silence. She felt mortified and her chest burned. “D’you go around assuming every woman that’s ever stepped foot in this flat has slept with your mate, or am I just special?”

“I didn’t really er-- that is, I know that sounds…” he struggled for the words.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was just your observation.” she said, having lost the humour in her voice. It seemed as though their conversation had officially ended. It was then that Brian noticed the sketchbook in her lap, and the charcoal held between her fingers. But before he could peek at what she had been doing, she had closed the book shut and reached for her satchel propped against her chair.

The door to Freddie’s bedroom opened unceremoniously and the man came out fully dressed, keys jangling in hand. “Sorry to make you wait, I couldn’t find my other bloody shoe.” Freddie was surprised to find Brian there that afternoon, and especially so, finding the taller man looking quite ill and confused. “I see you’ve met Brian.”

“Yep.” the girl said, putting her things into her bag.

Fred might have guessed as to what led to this uncomfortable situation: one, Roger had never been the type who was short of female companions; two, for someone normally so articulate, Brian had probably one of the worst cases of foot in mouth syndrome Freddie’s ever been witness to; and three, his poor new friend has entirely no idea of the effect she had on the opposite sex. This scenario appeared to make the most sense to him. Seeking to relieve the tension, Fred had thought a speedy escape would be their best course of action. Collecting their coats in a calm fashion, he beckoned to her, “Coming, darling?”

“Born ready, Freddie.” she replied, her face was an impassive mask as she spared one last look to Brian before walking out the door with Fred.

Brian, rooted in his spot on the sofa, released a long suffering groan into his hand. He had gone and done it now, alright. He really had no luck with women, and he felt like a true dolt. He somehow managed to insult a mutual friend of both his best mate as well as that of that best mate’s flatmate all in one fell swoop. And he didn't even know the poor girl’s name.

Standing up, he walked over to where she had just been. Her seat was still warm, and by the end table was another set of fresh drawings. It appeared she been working on a flyer for their upcoming gig; ironic, given the circumstance, in large bold letters it mocked him saying, ‘DON’T FORGET TO SMILE!’.

Sure enough, on the bottom right-hand corner was a single initial, a pristine, looping 'W'.

I can't find my bluebird I listen to my bluebird sing I can't find my bluebird I keep rambling, baby I keep rambling, baby

#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #bo rhap #bo rhap fic #itlotg fic #queen #brian may #brian may x original character #freddie mercury #roger taylor #gwilym lee #rami malek

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uniformbravo · 5 years

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me trying to make a gif part 2 (thrilling finale, buildup ver.)

ok good news and bad news: good news being withheld for Spoilers (not that it’s that hard to guess anyway lol), bad news explained first bc, chronologically, it is first

so yesterday i mentioned in the tags of that post that i had seen that krita has an animation feature so i was gonna try importing the frames into that and then exporting it as a gif. easier said than done, as it turns out

i started by opening the file i made yesterday with 62 layers as the frames and importing that into krita, which worked fine (i didn’t know you could actually open .psd files in clip stuido ((this typo is so fucking stupid it made me laugh so im leaving it)) and krita, so that’s pretty neat, i wonder if it works the other way around too) but i ran into problems when i tried to convert those layers into frames in an animation. because, like, the layout of the program has the layers displayed in one tab, and the animation timeline in another, like so:

(do u like how im using pictures now, i thought of that yesterday after i published the other post and realized hey, visual reference would probably make my plight a lot easier to understand!! so enjoy these educational diagrams from now on)

so my goal was to get the frames from the layers into the timeline, and i still don’t know if i did it right bc lbr krita is not very intuitive at all,,.,, i mean i watched a video tutorial abt how to animate in krita which was v helpful (it’s the one by jesse j james on yt fuckin SHout out) but it was about animating from scratch, not importing an animation you’ve already done elsewhere

so like, the way krita’s animation thing works, from what i could piece together as i bumbled my way around w/ it, is that each layer in the layers tab is a separate timeline in the,,, timeline tab

i want them all to be in the same timeline, not separate ones, and there’s no way to combine them in the timeline tab bc doing that just overwrites whatever layer you’re pasting it down onto, and also if you define the number of frames for that timeline (62 for this project) it just puts the single image of that layer for all of the frames instead of just one of them, so you’d have to go through and delete all the other frames you don’t want it to be, which would be such a fuckin pain

so i found a workaround, which is so tedious that it can’t be the right way to do it, but basically i started w/ layer 1 and defined 62 frames & then emptied frames 2-62, like this

(that blue box is the frame, btw, even tho it says 0, which actually kind of annoys me like why doesn’t it start the first frame on 1????)

from there i went up to layer two and selected that in the timeline, but for some reason the frame doesn’t show up automatically?

& i couldnt fuckin figure out how to make it into like, an Official Timeline Layer or whatever tf bc like, u see on layer 1 how theres that little lightbulb-looking icon on the right? that’s for turning on onion skin which only applies when you actually have frames with things drawn on them, so basically layer 2 in the layers tab has a drawing but in the timeline it doesn’t?

i didn’t find out what the actual reason for this is or how you’re /supposed/ to make the frame appear in the timeline, but what i did was right click on layer 2′s timeline & select “create blank frame” which magically made the frame i want appear

but it’s on top of the layer 1 frame, and i want it to be the frame after. also it’s still in a different timeline. this is the only easy fix in this whole damn process, u can literally just click & drag the frame from layer 2 to layer 1 and put it wherever u want on the timeline

and then u just delete layer 2 and that’s it, frame transferred!! then i just had to do that for 60 more layers and after [unspecified amount of time but it was a fuckin while ok] my timeline looked like this!

(the gaps near the end are held frames, to save me time so i didn’t have to copy a bunch of frames that were exactly the same)

krita is great because as far as i know ur animation can have an unlimited number of frames, at the risk of your own pc’s processing power, which is a definite upside to SOME expensive art programs i know (clip studio, i’m talking abt csp) and u can pick the frame rate too (cough photoshop elements 5.0 even tho u dont technically have an animation feature & it’s a miracle u can even make gifs at all) so once i finally got all the frames situated all nice and in order like on the same timeline, playing it was great! played at the right speed, looped perfectly, it was a dream come true right

well, time to export it as a gif

haha

hoooo oo o

so u got 2 options for exporting ur animation, u can either hit “export,” which lets u save it as different file types, one of which being gif, or you can hit “render,” which gives you gif and video options

well

i tried export first, bc that seemed like a good idea, but the “””gif””” it made was distinctly not a gif, despite its claim to be one?? this is what i got:

notice: 1. it is not moving, and 2. the black bars to the sides?? those are supposed to be transparent. they’re transparent in the file i made so why didn’t they register as transparent in the export, when gifs have transparency capabilities??

so That was some real live bullshit but i still had the “render” option, right? export was wrong, so rrender must be the correct option to go to that will produce the results i am wanting to see produced in front of me like a silver dinner platter with a correctly functioning gif under the lid, that’s what i want to see and “Render Animation...” is gonna Give me that silver platter righWRONG ok look at this shit rn ok Look

it says GIF it says it RIGHT THERE right??? right?????? then WHY

?????????????

and it also gave me all This bullshit

like did i ask?? did i fucking ask???? i already have all the individual frames why do i need even M o re i mfjgjgk

((rationally ok yea thats v useful for if ur making the animation in krita and want to export the frames to use elsewhere, but like uhhh 1. again, they’re not transparent & 2. i should have the option of saying i don’t want these??? bc *meme voice* i don’t want these)

so in the end i could find NO correct method of exporting animations as a gif in krita bc every ooption that says gif is fuckign LYING to ur face there are NO gifs in krita, aliens made the progam who looked at gifs and went “hmm i thikng this is how a gif works “ and just made jpegs instead but somehow got on the computers good side and got it to lie for them about it being a gif so thats why it says gif on the file still even tho its not a gif illimati confinr

so what is the conclusion to this? well i said there was good news too, and this is the portion where i divulge that sweet nectar (i type dthis 2 seconds ago and @ me what the fuck)

so after wasting a good 2 hours trying to figure out krita i gave up and watched some good old [youtuber name redacted bc what if it shows up in search & ppl see this dumbass post in there but it rhymes with fjackfsepticfeye] to relax into accepting my fate that i’ll never be able to upload my animations to tungle except in poor quality loopless video form, making me into a laughing stock on my own art blog, but THEN i had a stroke of genius, in my Brain

so if u read yesterday’s post u might remember that flipnote studio, the animation program i use on my ds, to animate, has the option to export files as gifs, both animated and sequential (meaning either as one fully animated gif or each individual frame separately), which is super convenient, but as i mentioned yesterday, any time i tried to open the folder with those files on my laptop, it crashed immediately

WELL today i thought “hey, how about instead of opening the folder in the sd card when it’s plugged in, how about i copy that folder from the sd card to my flash drive, and try to open it there, in case it’s the card’s hardware that’s causing the problem, not corrupted files”

so i tried that and it FUCKING WORKED THANK GOD GLORY HALLELUJAH

so now instead of spedning A THOUSAND YEARS trying and failing to force art programs to bend to my will i can just export the animations straight from my ds and drag them onto my computer Just As God Intended oh GOD im so fucking happy

here’s the gif in the end, i’m gonna post it to my art blog too but this is the Green Version bc i animate in green bc of some default settings in flipnote that i got used to, plus it makes me feel like i’m just sketching so nothing really has to be finalized so i’m comfortable while i work, and also it’s just nice ok it’s a Nice Green

(there’s a few frames at the end that are like the extra scraps from while i was working dw i got rid of those in the final version that i’m posting to my art blog later. also i added my blog url to that one too it’s aaaaaall good)

the only downside to this method is that i can’t change the canvas size to be 540px wide to fit with tumbrl s image dimensions but whatever i can just post them in a text post and fix the html to display it at its original size instead of the resizing bullshit tmurbl pulls constantly ugh. anyway it works great on desktop but it’s inevitably gonna look like shit on mobile no matter what i do *Big Ass Shrug*

anyway thats the end of my success story uhh i can’t make the like comment & subscribe joke again bc i already did that in the last post so like bye i guess thanks 4 watchign & have a great day i’ll see u in my next fvideo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYob4uDjEKI&t=0s

(^that’s my outro music)

#this started out so boring like a tutorial (but made by someone who doesn't know what the fuck theyre talking abt)#& then things derail Real Quick #that's why this is the ''buildup ver.''#retag later #talkin bout stuff #today posts #rieley's wips #(me: i can't mention this youtuber by name in case my post shows up in search #me: *adds a link to the post rendering that effort for naught*#me: *leaves it anyway bc it's funny*)#pls listen to the outro musi c it's rly good & tunmgmldnr wouldnt let me embed the video & idk how to do it thru html & too lazy to look it #up :(

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nikashepard · 6 years

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2.5D zDepth Animations Tutorial

Due to the popularity of this post, I decided to write a simple tutorial for whoever wants to try the same thing with their favorite game. This method will work with every title that supports ReShade and Depth Buffer (and pretty much every static image you want to animate).

What is ReShade?

It’s more or less a mod that alters the original graphics, adding in more effects (like lens flare), different tones and fixing bad looking edges.

What is the 2.5D/Parallax effect?

2.5D is a method used by many editors to animate a completely still picture, from simple sceneries to characters. This creates a sort of 3D depth on your pictures, used a few times by many professionals to bring famous paintings and advertisements to life.

Note: This tutorial is mostly about scenery animation faking a camera movement and adding in a 3D space between layers. For the Parallax animation on characters I’ll write a separate guide.

What you need:

• The game (duh) (in this case I’ll use Assassin’s Creed Syndicate as example) • ReShade (I find myself more comfortable with a previous version, because I somehow cannot achieve the same results with ReShade 3+ at the moment. This should easily work with the latest version too, but for any problem or if you want to follow the guide better, grab ReShade 2.0.4f from here) • An editing program like Adobe Photoshop, anything that allows you to separate parts on layers and fill empty areas. • Adobe After Effects

A basic editing knowledge is required, along with a good understanding regarding Adobe programs in general. If you make graphics and gifs you’re already a step ahead, but you actually don’t need to be familiar with AE to do the animation.

The tutorial will include four parts:

1) In-game screenshot w/ Depth activated 2) Editing/preparation for AE 3) Compositing 4) Animating

Part 1: In-game Screenshot with Depth Buffer

1) If you are using ReShade 3+ you can follow this tutorial regarding its installation, otherwise copy the ReShade folder, ReShade.fx and ReShade64.dll (or ReShade32.dll if the game is 32bit) into the main game path (where the exe is, so to speak), then rename ReShade64/32.dll as dxgi.dll.

2) With ReShade 2 go to ReShade directory > Presets > Default and drag Shaders_by_CeeJay.cfg into Notepad, then scroll down to the very last line where you see a shader called DisplayDepth. Next to #define USE_DisplayDepth change the value from 0 to 1. With ReShade 3 press Shift+F2 and look for the same name, if you properly downloaded it along with the other shaders of choice it will most likely be already activated. It is highly recommended to set a hotkey for this effect so that you can easily turn it on and off in game (for example, #define Depth_ToggleKey VK_F12).

3) Open Pipeline.cfg and look for the line #include EFFECT(CeeJay, DisplayDepth). Select it, cut it away and then paste it to the very top before any other shader listed. This will allow you to obtain smooth shapes instead of jagged edges (you should also play around with AA options, specifically SMAA and/or FXAA, both included in CeeJay.cfg). Sadly I’m not sure how the setup works in ReShade 3+.

4) Now that your options are properly set you can start the game. Find an area you like and want to shoot, then press F12 (or any other key you chose for it). If the game has a photo mode or custom made free camera tools, you should totally use those for the best results. You can check this post for a few listed titles and all their respective links.

ReShade allows you to automatically store your screenshots directly into the game’s folder by simply pressing the print screen key. This is how the scene looks normally, without UI and with the free camera activated.

This is what happens when you turn DepthBuffer on.

Note: If all you get with Depth is a fully white or black screen, chances are you need to “reset” by simply entering the fullscreen mode (and switch back to borderless/windowed if that is what you usually like playing with). ReShade usually reloads whenever you apply a modification to the settings, but if even after this the effect doesn’t show up it probably means the game has no DepthBuffer support (or there is some incompatibility somewhere, which may be related to other shaders).

Part 2: Editing

1) Grab your depth screenshot and open it with your editing program of choice, I use Photoshop. In order to animate this, you have to create different layers (renaming them for an easier use in AE, but that is up to you) being sure each hole is covered, or else the empty part will definitely show up in your animation.

2) Make a selection around the areas you want to separate, I’m starting with what is close to the “camera”. Try to be as precise as possible to keep most of the details, especially around the character. Once you’re satisfied with your selection press CTRL+X to cut it out and then paste it into the same position, a new layer for it will be automatically created.

3) If you hide the layer you’ve just made, you will obviously notice an empty shape on the background right where you cut it. The easiest way to fill that properly is by selecting the layer (CTRL+LMB on it), inverting selection and going to Modify > Fill > Content-Aware.

As you can see the empty area has been filled completely, but a few fixes are required. You can use the clone stamp tool or the healing brush, in this case I choose the latter because it makes the process quicker.

It can be a bit tedious in some places... especially if there are a lot of buildings or trees, depending on your scene. Photoshop covered the outline using the existing content to generate the missing parts as I dragged the brush over it, but you may want to use the clone tool as well and even draw here and there where the brush failed.

Repeat the process for all the other layers you want to separate and then rename everything to know what you’re gonna edit in AE (again, this is optional). You can also make the back layer bigger to hide imperfections behind the other layers, which won’t be too visible while animating. Further edits will be done in AE later anyway.

Part 3: Compositing

1) Save the PSD file and load Afer Effects. I’m currently using the CC 2015 one, but even if you have an older version this method will work without problems.

Go to File > Import > File and select your PSD.

Be sure the importer is set on Composition and Editable Layer Styles is checked, this is essential if you want to work on each layer.

2) Double-click on the left to preview the PSD and convert every single layer into 3D. To do so simply check the third square on the right, under the cube icon:

Now we need to add a Camera. Go to Layer > New > Camera and leave the options untouched (the default configuration should be okay for this).

3) Right under your preview you should see a button called Active Camera. Switch to Custom View 1 to move the layers and create depth between them.

All you have to do is select each layer in the lower panel and move it using the blue arrow (z direction) to push it backward or forward. Use the order you’ve got as reference for the best result, then change the view to Active Camera again when you’re done.

4) Now that you have changed the original positions you need to fix their size to fit the composition. Select all layers at once, press S and activate the little watch icon that appears followed by the effect name (Scale). You will see three values then; place your mouse over the 100,0% one and drag it to the right or left in order to resize the layer(s). Use the directional arrows to also move them up or down eventually.

The stopwatch is absolutely fundamental, because it tells where to place each frame in the timeline. Whenever you apply an effect or any modification you need to be sure it’s recorded at the very start, this way it will affect the entire sequence and you won’t risk to only see it taking action in a few frames later instead.

5) You can move the upper bars in your timeline to change the final time. A few seconds for this kind of animations will suffice, I always set it around 4s.

Part 4: Animating

1) Now we can finally animate, woo!!

It is highly recommended to make all the planes bigger than the composition, so that you can move them around without risking to get empty spaces. In this case we want to fake a camera movement with a sort of 3D perspective, like the gifs I’ve posted in that photoset.

Let’s start from the first layer. Click on it and press P (position) to store the current location on the first frame, then move the time indicator at the end of your sequence. I want the main layer to slide horizontally, thus I will move the red arrow on X axes.

As soon as your first animation is stored, another frame will be generated at the end of the timeline. After Effects automatically creates all the frames between the first and the last one, if you are happy with it select the second layer and do the same, then the third and repeat. You can also use the R (rotation) key to add more realism. Remember to ALWAYS check the stopwatch on frame 1 before doing anything else.

You can preview the animation with space bar, the rendering times change according to the amount of virtual memory installed on your PC.

For a nice camera shake you can follow this tutorial.

2) Once you’re happy with your animation you’re ready to export it. You can pick a simple video option, but that usually requires a second rendering in Sony Vegas or any other program for video editing to fix the bad-looking fps drop. I suggest you to export in frames instead, especially if you plan to make gifs. Go to Composition > Add to Render Queue, a new panel will appear on the bottom. Click on Lossless and pick PNG Sequence next to Format, then on Not yet specified (output to) and select a destination on your computer. Press Render, wait and it’s done! Again, the rendering times will highly depend on your RAM and composition size. The bigger, the slower; if you play in 4k you should reduce the screenshot size to a common 1920x1080 at least, even smaller after that for the final gif (tumblr has a 3MB limit).

Result:

Questions? Send me a note!

#my graphics #ac syndicate #assassin's creed syndicate #assassin's creed #jacob frye #tutorial #depth buffer #zdepth #after effects #animation #guide #graphics #camera shake #reshade #2.5d #2.5d animation #parallax animation #parallax effect

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eleventoes · 7 years

Text

presage | oneshot

⟶ pairing: park jimin x reader ⟶ word count: 12.3k ⟶ themes/genres: clairvoyant!au | angst & fluff if you squint ⟶ ♪ : through the night - iu, ring my bell - suzy, going home - tarin , serendipity - bts ⟶ warnings: mentions of death ⟶ synopsis:

mistake noun

1. an act or judgement that is misguided or wrong 2. you saving Park Jimin from his imminent death 3. and falling in love with him along the way

***

A boy, wide-eyed and fresh-faced, so immersed in the music blasting in his ears that he was blissfully unaware of the world around him, his steps decisive as he crosses the dimly illuminated street.

A truck, the drunken man behind the wheel in a state much too inebriated to care, spiraling out of control and swerving at all the wrong turns, its collision into the oblivious boy almost inevitable.

And you, a mere bystander whose purpose there should not extend to anything beyond.

The three of you were key players in the events that should have transpired that cold winter night, and each role had to be fulfilled perfectly such that the universe itself could retain its rightful order; one that would serve to be disastrous if it were to be disturbed, even slightly. Harmonizing with the howling winds, the truck would have skidded sonorously on the glazed over roads, ramming mercilessly into the boy and proceed to overturn, flipping eight times over and instantly claiming two lives upon impact, leaving behind nothing but mangled and bloodied remains.

The town would have monotonously declared it a tragedy, and the devastation of both their families would have come to light via a poorly written article headlining the daily newspaper, only drawing attention for the sob story it would have provided. Sympathy was transient and fleeting, and soon the tragedy would amount to nothing but another traffic accident. You had a miniscule role, having to simply scream and dial for immediate medical aid, thereafter going back to your own life as if that night was but a distant memory, albeit a traumatic one. Had all three of you played into fate’s hands accordingly, the rightful order would be set in place, and the universe would go on to function as it always has, with no glitches in sight whatsoever.

Unfortunately, you had crossed the boundaries of which you were bound to, and had gone and broken rules that weren’t meant to be broken.

Only a couple of steps behind the unsuspecting boy, it was all too easy to reach out to grip his forearm tightly, thereby stopping him right in his tracks, pausing only a hair’s breadth away from where he would have been robbed of his remaining years.

Where he was supposed to have been robbed of his remaining years, if you hadn’t played with fire and decided to tempt fate itself, pulling the boy into safety once you had seen what was about to happen.

On hindsight, it was uncharacteristically impulsive of you, to intercept with the natural flow of events even if you had full knowledge of the near future, whether good or bad. Despite occasionally having visions of the eventual future, you rarely did anything about it, knowing full well that there would be unspeakable consequences if you intercepted, because there was a delicate equilibrium in which the universe has to maintain, and the faintest shift in that fragile balance would be chaotic, to say the least.

However, looking back on your recklessness, one variable that you had failed to factor in was your inexperience; one that would ultimately cost you a lot more than you had initially bargained for. In all your twenty years, you’ve had the pleasure of never having a vision in which you foresaw another’s death, and you never had to debate with your own innate humanity in order to save a life.

Perhaps you were only fearful of the immense guilt that would have ripped you apart if you had only stood by idly and watched an innocent perish, but regardless, your fingers had found its way to the boy’s forearm before you knew it, tugging him back onto the desolate pavement.

Earphones still plugged in, the boy only stares at you in incredulity, absolutely bewildered that a stranger had just wordlessly pulled him aside for no reason at all, but you only stare back blankly in an unspoken challenge.

He frowned, confusion clouding his features, but the questions on the tip of his tongue disappeared instantly when the box truck made its appearance. Gliding ominously on the road, the truck skewed dangerously along where the boy would have been casually strolling, before losing its balance, deafening squeals of the rubber tires roaring in the stillness of the night. The rest plays out exactly the way it did in your vision, the truck having ended up as beaten up as you had previously seen, and you don’t even look at the boy when the realization of what you had just done fully sinks in.

The beginnings of regret was starting to pool in your abdomen, and you were nothing short of terrified of what was to come, because you had done something that wasn’t your place to do. What exactly did you think you would accomplish, playing hero all of a sudden?

Not bothering to spare even a fleeting glance at the gaping boy, you trudged forward, eerily calm as you called up both the police and an ambulance. Quivering fingers betraying your stony façade, you almost lose grip of your phone as you rattled off the details and your location to the officers on the other end of the line, your heart wrenching in an emotion so strong you had to repeatedly tell yourself to breathe.

Fear.

Truly, the root of all evils. The one emotion capable of rendering a person motionless, the sheer intensity of it able to drive all rational thought out of your mind, consuming your entire being in paranoia. What happens now? You had acted too quickly, too rashly for your own good.

The boy, the would-be victim of a tragedy that had been repeated far too any times to count, darted forward, having snapped out of his stupefaction a few moments prior, trying to prod near the now smoking truck in order to offer any sort of help. Desultorily, you stick out your arm to stop him, lightly shaking your head and mouthing a simple ‘he’s dead’.

Mind hazing over at the sight of the gruesome accident, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were supposed to save the drunkard behind the wheel as well, guilt once again worming back into your heart. Was there anything you could possibly do to save him, to reclaim his life?

“Hello?” The boy was finally talking, and was now preoccupied with trying to get your attention, “Hello?”

“Huh?” Came your vaguely unintelligible reply.

“Are you feeling okay? You don’t look that good.” The boy murmurs softly.

To say you didn’t look good would be an understatement. Hair flung wildly across your face and your shoulders, with your features twisted in both shock and a grimace, you had probably looked every bit deranged. Similarly, the boy hadn’t appeared any better, his eyes wide with mortification at almost having lost his life, earphones hanging limply at his side, long forgotten.

Nodding in acknowledgement, you dazedly chewed on your bottom lip, making your way over to the curb to sit down and get a better hold of yourself as you await the oncoming sirens.

The boy follows.

The cold nipped at your cheeks and your bare ankles, earning a subconscious shiver from you. You had dressed lightly that night, clad in only two thin layers and jeans to fend off the wind, having only left your house to pick up some stuff from the convenience store a couple of streets over, and you were expecting a quick trip. This, on the other hand, was far from what you were expecting when you left your apartment and had skipped over to the convenience store to grab some snacks. Burying your face in your hands in a valiant attempt to find warmth, you instead find comfort in a hoodie gently draped over your shoulders.

Dark orbs reflecting twinges of concern and curiosity were burning a hole into your own.

“You looked cold,” He suddenly grows shy, kicking at a small mump of snow with his worn sneakers.

You look colder, you were about to say, noting that he wasn’t very adequately dressed for the season himself, but you don’t say a word. The myriad of emotions that was engulfing you in blue flames was too much to handle, and truth to be told, you were uncertain as to how you were going to face the boy beside you, and even more uncertain as to what the future would now hold, now that you’ve gone and altered fate. Worry was seeping into the knots of your shoulders, the weight of the situation much too burdensome for you to comprehend.

And then red and blue was flashing obnoxiously all around you, a telltale sign that the authorities have arrived, and that you should start busying yourself with giving statements and whatnot. Dull or not, it was a welcomed distraction from all your unanswered questions that had your mind spinning.

A quick confirmation of both your identities and several basic questions later, the two of you were good to go your separate ways, the way it should have been right from the very start.

As it should have been, but the boy thinks otherwise.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Eyebrow twitching at the unexpected offer, you force a civil smile onto your exhausted features, “No, it’s fine, my apartment’s nearby.”

“It’s not safe to be alone at night,” He tenaciously explains, letting out an embarrassed chuckle, “I can vouch for that, considering how I almost just, um, died.”

“Do what you want.”

You had hoped your clipped tone would have the boy second thinking his offer to walk you home, but you were all out of luck, and he persistently falls into step beside you as you headed towards your apartment building, “Thank you, for saving my life.”

You don’t respond, because you shouldn’t entwine your life with his anymore than you already had, and to play it safe would be to stay as far from him as humanely possible.

That boy, however, doesn’t take a hint.

“I’m Jimin, by the way.”

Silence.

“You’re Y/N right?”

Shit. Freezing, you slowly angle your head towards his, waiting for an elaboration, which thankfully comes soon enough without any prompting.

“I see you sometimes, at Seokjin-hyung’s café? Ah you probably don’t remember me, but I go there often.”

Squinting at him with only the florescent lights of the streetlamps as a guiding source of light, you realize that the familiarity of his silhouette wasn’t just your eyes playing tricks on you, and that he was indeed a regular at the café you worked at, though you don’t see his face at the counter often.

Fate sure liked to have its way with you.

The last vestiges of courtesy had already left your system, and you were far from being in the mood to entertain the very person who was, unknowingly, the root of all your vexations. Snuggling deeper into your clothes, you lengthen your strides, tuning out whatever the boy had been saying, because as nice as he was, he was the last person you wanted to see.

Convincing yourself that you should disregard the way his eyes droop at your unresponsiveness, you soon find yourself hovering near the entrance of your apartment building, with the boy, Jimin, shuffling awkwardly behind.

“Thanks.” You churn out gruffly, pushing past him and over to the lobby.

“Um, my jacket—”

Oh.

Flushing scarlet, you spin back on your heels to hand the hoodie back to its owner, embarrassed by how cozy you had looked, with your hands buried deep in the pockets and all.

“No, I meant that you could, um, keep it.” He breathes, taking a few steps back, “Okay, I’ll just go now.”

And he bolts down the road, blatantly disregarding the fact that he had almost died a while ago whilst crossing those very same streets.

You sigh, but a small smile threatens to tweak at the corners of your lips as you entered the elevator, and you do all you can to squash any inkling of affection that was growing for the boy who called himself Jimin.

You were treading in dangerous waters, and as only a pawn in the grander scheme of life, you had just crossed a line.

***

“Hyung, you better wipe that creepy grin off your face before Y/N sees you,” Jungkook remarks insouciantly, sliding into his seat next to Jimin’s with a matcha latte in tow.

Narrowing his eyes to proclaim his annoyance with the younger male, Jimin only lets out a grunt, kicking Taehyung in the shin when he joins in with the harmless teasing.

Much to his chagrin, his friends had wasted no time dragging him by the collar over to the café owned by Seokjin’s parents once Jimin had filled them in on the whole ordeal, one that Jimin himself was starting to regret divulging. He wouldn’t have minded if it was just any other café (and he was quite fond of this particular café because the fruit tarts were heavenly), but this just happened to be the same one where you were manning the register, with a gorgeous smile atop your lips while Seokjin chucked out the pastries not far behind. Okay, so maybe the fruit tarts weren’t the only reason behind his ridiculously frequent visits.

The café itself was a sight to behold, really, Seokjin’s parents had gone all out with the interior design, not at all hindered by how small and quaint the space was. Translucent curtains lightly billowing in the winter breeze, the soft plush chairs were strewn generously with even softer coffee-colored cushions, and the low pinewood tables had only made the place even more cozy than it already was; more than perfect for a relaxing afternoon away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Jimin especially loved the redolent aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air, surrounding the café with a homely atmosphere so dear and nostalgic that he never wants to leave. But most of all, he was intrigued by you, mildly fascinated with the way your eyes would light up whenever there were customers, making light conversation all with a genuine smile gracing your features. You being so friendly and welcoming with all the patrons of the café had actually deterred Jimin from going up there to make an order himself, fretting that he wouldn’t be able to say anything back and would just wither away into a blushing mess, which was saying something because Jimin usually wasn’t all that shy, since that was Jungkook’s job.

But today was going to be different. He was actually going to have something to talk to you about, an excuse to get to know the girl behind the warm yet ephemeral smiles—last night, when you had pulled him out of the way from an oncoming truck that had only materialized seconds later.

Jimin may be spending more time than he should at the studio, going through dance moves again and again instead of burying his nose into books, but he was no idiot. He knew there was something up, how else would you have been able to pluck him out of harm’s way when the tranquil streets hadn’t given the approaching vehicle away?

But no, Jimin wasn’t intending to strike up a conversation with you just to pry; he doesn’t really care how you did it, what matters was that you had swooped in to save his life and he was already unbelievably grateful. He just wanted to make small talk, exchange a smile or two, and ask if you were alright. The accident had been pretty graphic and it had been disturbing, for lack of a better word. Even Jimin had trouble sleeping last night, the crimson stains and grisly body haunting the crevices of his mind until it had finally been subdued by overdue slumber.

But he simply couldn’t fathom why you had outright refused to even give him the time of the day, his heart plummeting all the way underground when you don’t even look him in the eye, humming disinterestedly as you counted the change.

“Can I—”

“No.”

“But how did you kno—”

“No.”

Frustrated and dejected at the same time, Jimin exasperatedly runs his fingers through his inky strands, trying his best to disregard the hurt from your rejection heartlessly jabbing into his chest. Having expired all his plans to just smoothly start up a conversation between the two of you, Jimin adopts a variation of different strategies to, at the very least, garner a reaction from you, earning the amusement of just about everyone else in the café.

He starts things off slow, propping an elbow on the countertop and staring holes into your side profile for a good ten minutes, before giving up at your continuous indifference. Jimin has often been told that he had admirable charisma, the kind that would make it difficult to not look at him, and he had been accepted as a trainee with a small part of the reason attributed to his ‘bedroom eyes’, but now he was starting to question the validity of their statements, because you hadn’t once thrown him a single glance.

Yet if there was one thing Jimin knows, it’s that he couldn’t pout adorably for the life of him, but what he could do was scrunch up his face, contorting it into what most people would have considered cute. And it does work, to the relief of Jimin and his lightly bruised ego, but only for a split second, your lips quirking into a traitorous half-smirk. Half because it vanishes soon after; so soon that Jimin had thought he was seeing things.

Jimin wasn’t one to give up easily, and you definitely don’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, and so the pertinacious brunette resorts to playing the guilt card.

“About the jacket…” He purposefully trails off, eyes scanning your face for any hint of emotion, any at all, perking up when you abruptly stiffen from behind the counter, muted red coloring your cheeks. Jimin then internally fist pumps, because yes, of course he was going to imprint your flushing face into his mind and revisit it over and over again, but you didn’t need to know that.

But the butterflies come crashing down in a flurry of whirlwind emotions when you only reach in the back to pull out his grey hoodie, soundlessly bundling the fabric into his arms.

And Jimin was utterly crushed, stunned speechless at how atypical your detached behavior was. He had been a regular for quite some time now, and every time he had the fortune of seeing you around, an amiable aura always surrounded you, sometimes accompanied by the tinkling of your laughter.

He doesn’t understand.

“Why do you hate me?”

He didn’t expect you to respond, but the question had slipped out somehow, and he couldn’t take it back, not even when he abhorred the disappointment all too apparent in his usually lilted voice.

He hadn’t expected you to respond, but you did.

“I don’t hate you, please don’t think that way,” You exhale, and Jimin looks up in time to see the softening of your gaze, sparking something suspiciously akin to hope in his heart.

Now that Jimin had all your attention, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, if he was even supposed to be doing anything at all.

“I just think,” You quietly continue, “That it’ll be best for us to stay away from each other.”

And now that Jimin had all your attention, he wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore, your words cutting deeper than he thought they would; hurting more than he thought they could.

“But why?” He presses, he wasn’t one to give up easily after all.

From somewhere to his right, he could feel curious eyes on both of you, undoubtedly from the six idiots he now called his family. Jimin shakes them off; they had probably sensed the tension, but he’ll handle their teasing later. Right now he couldn’t care less, obstinately following you out from the back door as you engaged yourself in taking out the trash.

“No reason.”

And there you go again, back on with the ice cold exterior, even while you were ungracefully hauling the gigantic bag of trash behind you.

As if it was the most natural thing to do, Jimin eases the enormous bag of garbage into his own hands, effortlessly tossing the damned thing into the dumpster before turning to you, brows knitted in firm determination, “I’m not leaving until you tell me why.”

Then it happens again.

In a situation that was all too familiar, your small hand was clasped tightly around his wrist once more, and a forceful tug bristled with underlying fear and unadulterated desperation was all it took to have him stumbling in your direction. Just like the night before, the same tingles course through his arm, and a couple of beats passes with him scrutinizing your odd expression. You had your emotions flawlessly under control just a while ago, but it all came undone in an instant, horror and despair flashing across your confounded face.

Jimin understands why a moment later, when a startling shattering noise has him twisting his neck to locate the source of the commotion.

His blood runs cold.

There, at the spot where he had stood a few seconds prior, was a broken flowerpot, shards of ceramic scattered all around the back alley, mounds of dark moist soil sprinkled all around the thin sheet of snow. The flowerpot hadn’t been something to sneeze at; something to laugh over and brush it off if it had made contact with his head. It had been big enough to knock him out entirely, maybe even crack his skull.

It may have killed him there and then, if you hadn’t done what you did and got him out of the way.

Time stilled, both of you too bewildered to make the next move, but Jimin recovers fast, head stilting to only catch a meagre glimpse of a pair of outstretched hands dangling from the balcony conveniently located above the back entrance of the café, no doubt the culprit of his near brush with death.

The same strange mixture of dread and relief coursed through his veins, a sensation Jimin gladly welcomes, because it was a good enough indication as any that he was still alive and breathing.

You, on the contrary, looked incredibly conflicted, gaze wavering at your exposed palms as if you had just realized what you did, looking so unimaginably scared and vulnerable that Jimin was torn between enveloping you in a bear hug and turning around to give you space to breathe.

He daringly opts for the former, aware of how unusual it would be to have an almost stranger invading your personal space like that, but the situation at hand was far from being what was considered a normal occurrence, and he couldn’t think of a better way to calm you down. Bracing himself for a hard shove in the chest, you surprise him by relaxing into his touch, breaths gradually steadying against the harsh palpitations of his heart, and he prays fervently that you don’t notice.

A few minutes go by like this, with the two of you huddled next to a dumpster, you fisting the wool of his knitted sweater while Jimin comfortingly rubbed small circles on your back, comfortable silence taking the both of you into its open arms.

Tilting his head at just the right angle, Jimin looks down at your damp lashes and the stubborn purse of your pink lips, rolling his own into his mouth thoughtfully. Yes, he had always thought you were cute and outrageously likeable, ever since he first stepped foot into the café and had been greeted with nothing but kind smiles and mellifluous laughter, and had often suffered in the hands of the rest of the boys, who had thought that his mini-crush on you was hilarious. But the feeling blooming in the pits of his stomach and spreading warmth to the rest of his body even in the dead of winter was something else entirely, a feeling Jimin longed to cherish and treasure with all of his being.

So he speaks.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Mmph.” You deliver from where your face was still pressed against his sweater, tongue numb from the cold.

“You said we should stay away from each other.”

You nod.

“I don’t want to.”

And perhaps the moment those words had left Jimin’s lips would be the exact moment where everything had begun; the start of something treacherously beautiful, yet so devastatingly bittersweet.

***

Park Jimin had the uncanny ability to charm the figurative pants off of everyone he meets, and now, at the very top of the long list of people who have given in to his alluring charm, your name sits tauntingly.

You couldn’t believe yourself; you had done it again, sweeping in to rudely interrupt the cruel plans fate had for him, as if you prolonging his life would do either of you any good. There were consequences, and you hadn’t wanted to stay around to discover them for yourself, but your stomach had gone and did a couple of cartwheels when Jimin had thought you weren’t looking; your heart dropping too fast when you had caught his downcast expression from behind the counter.

Steering clear of him would be the obvious thing to do, and you hadn’t wanted to hurt him in any way, shape or form, but you did regardless, and the affirmation of the very slight affection you had for the boy came in the form of an apologetic squeeze of your heart.

Perceptive as you were, you hadn’t taken much notice of Park Jimin before that fateful night, the only knowledge you possessed being that he, along with Seokjin and the five other regulars at the shop, were all trainees in an entertainment company a short distance away, justifying their recurrent patronage. Sure, his sleek jawline and sinfully full lips made just about every female (and sometimes male) customer swoon a little if they spot him while making an order, but that pretty much applied to all seven of the boys who had made a home in that secluded corner of the café.

But it was precisely because of your perceptiveness that you could practically hear the warning bells going off in your head, cautioning to not take another step towards the boy with the most adorable eye-smile you have ever seen, the boy who tried to play it cool even though that had probably gave his tiny crush away.

Yet every other cell in your body was screaming for you to do otherwise, and what’s worse was that you could see it.

You could see yourself falling irrevocably in love with him.

A teeny part of you was hopeful; maybe now that you had prevented his death twice, it wouldn’t come knocking at his door anymore. You don’t know what kind of logic you had to back that hypothesis up, but the irrational voice in your head would whisper ‘maybe both potential deaths had cancelled each other out, and he’s free to live his life now’ or something as equally ludicrous, like ‘maybe all along the purpose of my presence there was to step in and save him’.

And even though you intuitively know that getting to know him would be a Very Bad Idea, you no longer acted as if he was virtually nonexistent every time he tumbled into the café at the weirdest times, occasionally right before closing hours and sometimes, if he had bad timing, he’ll catch you in the midst of peak hours, when you’d be too busy to even look his way. It had to be insanely tough to be him, having to juggle both heinous hours of idol training and college as well, which was already a handful by itself. Not that you would know though, having gave up college in your final year of high school, knowing that it simply wasn’t for you.

As Jimin wound his way in and out of the café everyday for the past two weeks just to reiterate cheesy and somewhat punny pick-up lines he got from Seokjin just to wrench a smile out of you (you were dead set on giving him your best poker face, even if you were dying laughing on the inside), you woke up one day to find that you had a huge soft spot for a certain boy with dark fluffy hair and crescent eyes.

Not that he would ever find out, no way, not over your dead body.

And said boy was once again leaning over the counter, where it was now infamously known as Jimin’s spot, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Hey baby, are you a pineapple—”

Ah, there he goes again.

“Yeah of course I am, damn it, and I thought I was pretty good at hiding it too,” You deadpan, not even lifting an eyebrow as you chucked all the ingredients for Jimin’s green tea frappe into the blender and heated up some muffins in the microwave.

“God, Y/N, when will you ever let me live?” The brunette huffs, good-naturedly of course, because he’s sweet like that.

“Maybe I’ll do that when you stop hitting on me, Jimin.”

“That’s not fair, you and I both know that’s never going to happen.”

He’s not being fair, he can’t just say things like that out of the blue, and you hope he doesn’t see you almost knocking over the blender, your ears tinged pink.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

“Really?”

“If you go on a date with me.”

Your answer was faster than Suga spitting fire, Jimin offhandedly notes, “No.”

“Well it was worth a shot.”

Rolling your eyes, you place his drink at the collection point, and instead of writing his name, you had written ‘idiot who doesn’t know when to give up’ in a neat scrawl, shifting back to admire your handiwork before gesturing to the idiot himself.

Jimin scoffs and takes a sip.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Can I get a pie?”

Frazzled, your answer comes out more like a question, “Um, sure?”

“Great! I’ll take you.”

“Huh?”

“I’d love to have a cutie pie like you,” He spurts the pick-up line along with peals of sputtering laughter, because Park Jimin would not be Park Jimin if he doesn’t laugh at his own pick-up lines.

Fighting back a smile and pulling on the straightest face you could muster, you reach over to whack him on the shoulder, but you were admittedly in awe of how many pick-up lines he pulls out of his ass every day. Snorting back a chuckle himself, Jimin smoothly twists his arm around such that his hand was clasped around yours, before gently grazing the back of your hand with his chapped lips.

“Go on a date with me,” He whispers, eyes swirling with emotions you could not decipher; not yet anyway.

The tinkling of metal against metal, the subdued conversations happening all around, the dad jokes from Seokjin a few feet away; they were all but white noise, and there was no one else in the world but you and the twinkly-eyed boy.

The most perilous of thoughts that had slowly inched into the fissures of your mind were too fraught with danger to be entertained, but you were past the point of caring.

“Okay.”

And I’ll protect you at all costs.

***

The first date had been like a dream and everything beyond; the kind of dream you would wake up to with the most enraptured of smiles as you bathed in the breaking daylight—the best kind there was.

Jimin’s day had started out like any other, having roused from slumber in his corner of the dance practice room, back aching in protest at his horrendous sleeping posture and bleary-eyed from the bare minimum of sleep he had gotten. As typical as the day had been, it had also been a little different, because Jimin suddenly thinks that the sun had been amazingly bright, the chirping of birds had been exceptionally melodious, and wow, has the grass outside the company building always been this green? All’s fine and dandy, except it was the middle of winter, and Jimin might need to get his eyes checked at the nearest optician.

“Hyung, this sweater—

Jimin plucked Taehyung’s favourite woolen sweater out of his makeshift closet on the swivel chair, ignoring the boy’s mild protests and plastering the fabric against the front of his chest.

—or this sweater?”

“Jimin,” Hoseok coos from the top of his bunk bed, “It’s winter and you’re going to an amusement park, she won’t be able to see whatever you’re wearing.”

“Unless you’re planning on doing something else,” Namjoon unhelpfully cuts in, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ugh, why do I even ask?” Eyes rolling so hard that they almost met the back of his head, Jimin doesn’t bother hiding the raging blush on his cheeks, only retreating further into the mountain that was Bangtan’s clothes pile to dig for something vaguely presentable.

Seven guys crammed together into a pocket-sized dormitory was no doubt a recipe for disaster, especially when all seven guys spent 12 hours a day sweating buckets to the pulsing of a beat, and Jimin only hopes to find a decent sweater sans ketchup stains.

By the time Jimin had unearthed a clean sweater (white, because you don’t remember having mentioned that that was your favorite color, but he does), changed out of at least 5 pairs of jeans and shrugged on a coat, he barely had any time to do anything except pull on a beanie and bolt.

And even while running he couldn’t keep the smile off his face; at least not until he neared the entrance of the café, the place of the promised meeting, and not to be mushy or anything, but the sight of you nearly knocked all the wind out of his lungs.

There you were, short puffs of air leaving your lips as you absentmindedly kicked at the dirtied snow beneath your boots, looking as ethereal as ever with the locks of your hair cascading down in waves and your ears snugly encased in fluffy earmuffs. You weren’t even donning anything out of the ordinary, only a long white coat and some skinny jeans, but Jimin, like the hopeless romantic he was, still thought you looked incredibly beautiful, and even more so when you almost spilt the coffee in your hand down your shirt.

Jimin belatedly realizes, damn I got it bad.

“Park Jimin, you’re late,” You say light-heartedly, innocently adding, “If we miss the bus, I’m going to kill you.”

“I’ll die a happy man then,” Jimin returns, teasingly pulling at your cheek, cracking up when your scowl makes you faintly resemble a gremlin.

A cute one of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not one to be at the losing end of things, you swiftly reach up to tug at his squishy cheeks, and you too, start dissolving into giggles, even though he still looked absolutely adorable and you knew it.

The two of you had probably looked like lovesick idiots in the eyes of the public, or maybe everyone had thought that you two were trying to see who could rip each other’s cheek off first; but regardless, the two of you continuously wrestle right there and then, all thoughts of actually boarding the bus on time long gone.

And as ashamed as you were to admit it, yes, you were the one who started the snowball fight. You knew the both of you would miss the bus anyway; one of the minimal perks of your clairvoyance.

If everyone else around you had initially thought you two were only morons playing around, they were probably now wondering if it was safe to let two lunatics roam the streets freely like this. Skillfully amassing a spherical ball of snow in your palms, you aim at Jimin’s ass, letting out an animalistic war cry while he gladly reciprocates the gesture.

The entire afternoon saw the two of you chasing the other down the street, sometimes tumbling over into a blanket of snow in a park, other times so preoccupied with attacking each other that you almost slam face first into a streetlamp. Yes, the snowball fight had been extremely engaging and mature, perfect for two rational adults such as you and Jimin.

The same probably doesn’t apply to the both of you bounding after the last bus that was departing for the winter fair; the one where the scheduled date was ideally meant to have taken place at. Rational adults do not run after buses while their hands were tightly clasped together, and they definitely do not holler after the bus driver to beg him to stop. But rational adults or not, Jimin found that he doesn’t really care, because your smile had been bright enough to ignite scorching fires and illuminate an entire night sky.

You didn’t care either, because the hand in yours provided you with all the warmth you would ever need.

The bus did eventually stop, much to your amusement; the driver had probably taken pity on the both of you, who looked every bit a mess with the wayward snow-laden hair and all the breathlessness from running.

Clambering onto the bus and delivering words of gratitude to the driver, the both of you trod to the back, plopping down onto the cushioned seats with a strangled noise. All the sprinting from the snowball fight had done a number on you, and you were so exhausted you were this close to being knocked out cold.

“Tired already?” Jimin’s voice snaps you out of your knackered haze, and you peeked at him from under your unkempt hair.

“Your fault for chasing me halfway around the park and tackling me to the ground,” Your tone was light, though a tad sleepy.

“Go on,” Jimin juts out his left shoulder, nudging you to use it as a pillow.

You pretend to contemplate over the offer, before letting out a smug ‘no’.

Joke’s on you, because you do end up falling asleep on his shoulder, the heat emanating from his body far too tempting for your sub-consciousness to refuse. You dozed off a little too fast, and into a deep sleep at that, so you unfortunately miss the way Jimin’s look of adoration brushes over your form, and the slight shifting of his position to accommodate your falling head.

The brunette sighs contentedly, distractedly playing with the scarf coiled loosely around your neck and smiling each time you sneeze in your sleep and nuzzle into his shoulder, trying his best not to let his cheeks explode from euphoria.

For the second time that day, Jimin arrived at the same conclusion.

Damn, I got it bad.

As luck would have it, the droning of the engine and the exertion from all the physical activities a while ago had lulled Jimin into slumber as well, and before he lost himself to sleep, he made sure to incline his head against yours.

And that was the position the both of you had jerked awake to when the bus came to a complete halt, and the driver announced that the bus service has reached its final stop and would be terminating on the spot. Flabbergasted and still shedding the drowsy aftereffects of the long nap, the two of you belatedly realized that there were no other commuters on the bus, and immediately scurried off, embarrassed.

Lost and mildly confused, it didn’t take long for you to suggest the next destination, because how better to end a date than dinner at a fast food joint?

Fast forward 10 minutes later, and you two found yourselves in the nearest McDonald’s.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the winter fair,” Jimin apologizes, and from the look on his face you knew he felt bad for not staying awake during the bus ride, but he was insane if he thought you would hold that against him, “I wanted today to be perfect.”

Quiet, you sipped on your coke.

“You probably don’t want a second date, huh?”

“It was,” You suddenly speak, looking at everywhere else but Jimin, “Perfect, I mean. Still is.”

And then silence.

“Have I ever told you,” He leans forward to pinch your nose, while you scowled and did the same to him, “How ridiculously cute you are?”

You fling a drumstick at him, and it nicks him on the cheek before landing on his burger, to which you grinned triumphantly at.

“Have I ever told you how ridiculously cheesy you are?”

“Can’t help it,” He picks up your drumstick and twirls it around, “I’m a chick magnet after all.”

“Ha ha,” Laughing drily, you pluck the drumstick clean out of his grip and stuffed it gracefully into the black hole you called a mouth.

The night ends with a plethora of greasy pick-up lines and a neck-to-neck thumb wrestling competition, and you later find out that dates with Jimin rarely ever goes according to plan, though it never matters to you, because you always see them coming anyway.

***

Suffice to say, you agreed to a second date.

And a third.

You and Jimin may or may not be on your thirtieth date; no one knew because there were too many to count.

There were the coffee dates; the most common of them all, where Jimin would burst into the café with the happiest of smiles as he goes straight for the kill, pecking you on the lips even when you were in the middle of taking orders. You were taken off guard at first, but you adapted fairly fast, learning how to read his body language whenever he wants to embarrass you in front of a customer, dodging whatever cringey PDA he would toss your way. In return, you no longer ran on scheduled breaks; your breaks only came in the form of a certain Park Jimin, and you would never admit it but your heart would soar the minute he steps in, though for more reasons than one.

In due course, you meet the rest of his would-be band mates as well, growing to enjoy their company and join them in hour-long roasting sessions. Jimin doesn’t know you were added into a chat group with everyone else except for him, where you would receive notifications every once in a while with a derp photo of Jimin, and you would exchange it for one you took on your own. Or at least, you think Jimin doesn’t have a clue (hint: he does).

Then there were the quick lunch dates in their company’s dance studio, where you would sling a fake ID card around your neck (courtesy of Jimin himself) to enter the premises, heading straight for the studio and near jumping out of your skin every time you pass by an actual employee, though they were few and scarce. You thought it strange that no one ever gives you a second glance despite you lugging eight bowls of takeout with you, and Jimin, the nerve of him, never tells you that you didn’t need an ID card to enter the building after all; he informs security all the time. Each time, the boys would thank you for the food and push each other out of the small studio to give the two of you privacy, screaming ‘be safe’ on their way out, even though it was unnecessary because you two would just end up wrangling on the floor in a wrestle at the end of it all. You didn’t really understand why the hell you wrestled so much with Park Jimin of all people, but the make-out sessions afterward always wiped your memory clean anyway.

And you couldn’t leave out the karaoke nights, no, that would be absolutely appalling.

Not too far from the boys’ dorm sits a quaint little karaoke place, fully equipped with non-soundproof walls and no snack bar at all; but that place was an all-time favorite between you, Jimin, and occasionally the rest of the guys. The reason being that Jimin was a broke college student and you weren’t too well-off either, and both of you love cheap things; the cheaper the better.

The two of you wouldn’t be yourselves if you’d gone the mainstream route and serenaded each other with love songs all the time. That would too cheesy, even for Jimin’s standards, not to mention draining, and you both know the other would be squirming in their seats, unsure of how to respond to a confession in a song. So instead, you try to out-dance each other with your ugliest dance moves and see which of you was the better rapper by jamming to Tablo’s songs. The former proved to be difficult for Jimin; he was a dance major and he practically grew up perfecting dance moves, so you win all the time, uncertain if you were truly the winner because Jimin always ends up crouching on the floor, laughing his ass off at his oddball of a girlfriend.

Yet all good things come to an end, and the circumstance under which you had met Jimin had been pushed back into the recesses of your mind for a good three months. You were hopeful that maybe it had all disappeared for good, but providence had decided that it was about time for it to resurface.

The visions and the accidents were coming at an alarming rate.

“I can’t believe you spent the entire duration of the movie making me a crown out of popcorn,” You hiss, not menacingly, but disbelief had marred your voice. The two of you had been at the local theater, enjoying one of the few days where Jimin didn’t have training in the early afternoon, and you had strode out the theater with popcorn for decorative hair ornaments.

“It’s not my fault I can’t focus on the movie with you next to me,” He had grinned that shit-eating grin that made you weak in the knees, so you had elbowed him in the stomach.

“Well, now my hair is greasy, almost as greasy as you,” You remember retorting, narrowing your eyes at his unrepentant stance.

“You wound me sometimes, Y/N,” Or so he had said, but he had immediately picked you up such that you were only a few inches off the ground, ambling down the street with you struggling in his arms. With a purposefully drawn out sigh, you stopped fighting off his hold on you; you had seen it coming five minutes ago. Again, the miniscule perks of your clairvoyance.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t catch that bus.” Grumbling, you had jabbed a finger pointedly at the bus stop, where Jimin’s bus was in the midst of departure. Gently, he set you back down on the ground before getting ready to run for the bus again.

Then came a vision of that very same bus toppling off the road and into a shallow ditch, injuring everyone on board and resulting in a singular death—Jimin’s.

You had gripped his arm tightly, the same way you had all the other times, and Jimin had only taken one look at you before sighing sadly, “I’m just going to have to be late, don’t I?”

Jimin doesn’t ask any questions the next time it happened again, nor the one after that, and not for the countless times after that either.

You never do explain your clairvoyance to Jimin, because if wasn’t as if you had your strange ability all figured out; and you simply assumed he must have realized that by now. Ever since you were a child, you could sometimes see things right before they happened. It wasn’t uncommon for the incidents you witness to have no relation to you whatsoever; you could just be walking down the street and you’d get a vision of some cat taking a leak on someone else’s front lawn. Very seldom do your visions hit close to home, not before you met Jimin, and because everyone else seemed to think you were creepy whenever you revealed what you saw, you had learnt to keep everything to yourself and to pay the visions no mind.

Jimin had never once disregarded your fears, always making sure to ensure that you were doing okay even when technically, his life had been the one at stake. That was how selfless he was, and you just couldn’t understand why the good always die young, but what you did understand was that you wouldn’t let the same happen to him, not on your watch.

“Aren’t you scared of me? Every time I step in and stop some stupid accident, don’t you just want to run away from me?” You had asked one night, when there had been a little too much liquid courage in your system.

He had only scrunched up his nose.

“I think you’re the last person I should be scared of,” Not breaking eye contact, he had continued, “Besides, you’re my hero.”

His shit-eating grin had vanished as fast as it had appeared, melancholy settling over his face, “I just wish I could protect you as much as you do for me.”

“Cheesy.” You hear yourself say, but you had almost wanted to cry.

Park Jimin is a fucking saint, you remember thinking right before passing out on the couch.

But if it meant that you could bask in his presence, or see his crescent eye-smile for just one more day, you would fight the entire world if you had to.

That day comes sooner than you expected.

***

A voice, all too sweet and all too familiar, “Baby, wake up.”

And for some reason, you listen, eyes jolting open with a start, nausea rocking your sweat-drenched body. The comfort of your duvet does nothing to calm your erratic nerves, only sticking to your clammy skin as you fist the cotton tightly into a crumpled ball. You imagine that you probably looked like complete and utter shit right now, but no, that could hardly be a concern; not when your heart was nearly going into overdrive, and not when your only audience was a very concerned Jimin.

You were close to wheezing by now, disquietude throwing your body into turbulence, only properly breathing and taking in your surroundings when a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your torso, along with a soft voice murmuring words of reassurance.

In the rosy glow of your room, the frightening visceral images you had been subjected to moments prior slowly seeped away into a jaded and distant memory, the touch of reality snapping you out from the effects of your nightmare.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jimin has taken to stroking your hair gently, your head pressed to his chest as the fast yet steady drumming of his heartbeat sways your breathing back to a much calmer rhythm.

Opening your mouth to answer an affirmative, you pause and frown, “I…don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” His breaths fan over your hair, tugging you closer into his embrace, “Nightmares aren’t worth remembering.”

Gradually sobering up with the hard-hitting rays of sunlight streaming in from the windows, you nod, almost succumbing to sleep again in Jimin’s arms. That is, until your feet were suddenly dangling four feet off the ground, and you were being whisked away into the kitchen with promises of breakfast.

“Omigosh, Jimin, put me down,” You whine in between bouts of laughter, poking at his cheeks and messing with his hair, “I’m not a kid.”

In response, he only tightens his grip, twirling you around in the empty hallway of the apartment you shared with Yerim, earning a childish squeal from you; not at all proving your point.

It has been just a little less than half a year since the two of you had started dating, and despite the recurrent near-death incidents that have recently increased in frequency, the relationship was still dancing vivaciously in its honeymoon stages. If anything, the both of you had only adjusted your lifestyles and routines to fit the other in without a hitch. Jimin, ever the romantic, still comes running into the café everyday in between the rigorous training he has to endure at the company and the expectations at his university, sometimes even staying your entire shift when his schedule allows for it, other times spending all of 15 minutes attached to your waist like some kind of koala. With how irregular his training hours were, it became routine for him to drop by your apartment long after dusk had settled in, panting from his short sprint to get to you, and the both of you would do nothing but cuddle and fall asleep to the movie neither of you watched. Sometimes it would be the other way round—you stopping by their dorm whenever the boys declare a bowling night and Jimin sneakily bails.

Last night had been one of those nights, and today wouldn’t be any different either.

“Movies tonight at the dorm?” Jimin asks with a grin, hovering near the doorway as he readies himself to leave for training, “The guys are going skating, those idiots. Only Namjoon-hyung actually knows how to skate, so I really don’t know how they’re going to survive.”

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day Park Jimin declining the opportunity of seeing the guys fall flat on their faces.”

“Tell me about it,” He grumbles jokingly, adding accusingly, “You’re the reason why they keep saying I’m whipped these days.”

“Aren’t you?” A shit-eating grin on your face (one that unsurprisingly reminds you of Jimin), you quickly swipe your lips across his cheek, trying not to flush.

“I am.”

And he pulls you in for a chaste kiss, smirking at your blush and disregarding his own before he looked at the time and did a double take.

“Shit, I’m going to be late, I’ll see you tonight babe.” Was all he said before one more kiss and he was out the door, running for his dear life.

Smiling and shoving on your sneakers, you start getting ready for your next shift, which would undoubtedly be boring with the absence of one particular mochi.

And you were right, as the rest of your day comprised of greeting lethargic customers and whipping up the magical concoction that was coffee; the usual. Of course, you liked your job, but it was always a little less interesting without Jimin around, though he doesn’t have to know that. Yet, despite enthusiastically serving all your customers and counting down the hours to the café’s closing, a couple of customers had still been milling around aimlessly, lost in their devices even when operating hours were over. Which meant that you had to stay behind to clean the equipment and lock up the shop, which also essentially meant that you would be late to movie night with Jimin.

Whipping out your phone, you send him a quick text informing him of your tardiness, of which was responded to with a selfie of him fake-crying dramatically. You ignore both the selfie and the stupid smile on your face.

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before your systematic cleaning of the equipment was intercepted by the vibrating of your phone, breaking the stone dead silence that had enveloped the café.

“Yes, Jimin? Couldn’t stand waiting for twenty more minutes to hear my voice?” Your voice had a teasing lilt to it, which would have been insane if Jimin considers the fact that you only wore a permanent scowl on your face a mere five months ago.

“Damn, hit the nail right on the head.” His voice was muffled through the terrible speaker quality of you beat up phone, but it still made your stomach flip all the same.

You laughed, bringing the phone to your ear as you wiped a mug squeaky clean, “How was practice?”

“Same old same old, I don’t think I’m even improving.”

Even through the phone, it was apparent that he was slightly down in the faint tremble of his voice and the frustration that laced through it, and your heart broke a little for the boy who never thought he was good enough, not even when he deserved the whole entire world.

“Jimin,” You sigh, “You’re absolutely wonderful and I adore the shit out of you, keep that in mind, got it?”

“Aw, I adore the shit out of you too Y/N—fuck what the fuck was that?”

Your heart stopped. Jimin rarely swore like that.

“Jimin? Jimin? Answer me, what happened?”

Desperation was infiltrating your tone, and you instinctively knew something was dreadfully wrong.

“Jimin? Jimin? Don’t you dare be playing a prank, answer me please? Jimin?”

The call drops, and you instantaneously pale, coffee mug crashing to the mahogany floor.

Jimin never hung up on you. Never.

It was exactly 10:13pm, and you can only hope you get to Jimin in time. Breaking for the door, you all but topple into the street, hailing a cab and flinging yourself into the passenger seat in a matter of five seconds. The dorm was further away from the café than Big Hit was, and would take you approximately fifteen minutes by car; and whether you liked it or not, you were going to spend the next fifteen minutes beating yourself up with despair and worry.

You couldn’t help but berate yourself for not having a vision as you usually do before something bad happens to Jimin, wondering why you hadn’t been more on guard ever since the accidents had started picking up its pace a couple of months ago. Now, Jimin was going to suffer the consequences of your idiocy; your negligency, and all because you couldn’t even do a good job of meddling with fate. Unknowingly, tears were spilling uncontrollably as you contemplated over the many things that could have happened to Jimin, and the fear of losing him had you gasping for air.

But what had truly transpired was way beyond your comprehension and your sanity, and as you stood before the familiar building, you could only gape.

Because in the tiny window where the boys’ dorm was located in the old and crusty building, angry flames were creeping up the walls, tearing and destroying all that was in its way. The fiery orange and blue embers were engulfing almost half of the building, but it had looked to be the strongest where their dorm had been, and you were unable to make out anything except for the copious amount of thick smoke, threatening to suffocate anyone within a ten-mile radius.

Sirens were roaring, and you register the sight of courageous firefighters drawing out water hoses and hurling themselves into the dangerous chaos without a second’s hesitation, but all you could see and think was Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

Tearing through the throngs of people gathered all around to witness the raging inferno, you scan the area for that familiar head of dark hair, or for the pair of eyes that would soften whenever you called out his name, but to no avail. Your frantic shouting was only met with silence.

Teetering unsurely between distress and grief, your prayers were finally answered when the paramedics on site started tending to civilians who had only just escaped the burning building, injuries varying from harsh third-degree burns to minor scratches. This was it, Jimin was going to stroll out anytime now, unscathed and relieved.

Anytime now.

Except he doesn’t, and your world shatters around you when you see a body delicately covered with a singular piece of white cloth being carried over to where numerous ambulances were situated at, sympathy plain on the paramedics’ features.

And from underneath the blood-stained fabric, a hand peeks out; fingers limp unlike the ones you had held earlier on in the day, the ring which matches yours still perched daintily on his left ring finger.

Stunned, your legs give out and you collapse onto the damp gravel, choking on your spluttering sobs. Behind you, you catch the words of a police officer taking down statements from all those who had evacuated the building safely.

It had been an electrical short circuit in the unit next to the dorm, and Jimin had been trapped in its vicinity. If the fire itself hadn’t claimed him, the toxic smoke would have.

Fingernails drawing blood from your palm, you scream and scream; screaming for the loss of your lover, screaming at the unfairness of it all, screaming for the boy who had always been too good for the world.

***

You were still screaming when you woke up.

And once again, a voice, all too sweet and all too familiar, “Baby, wake up.”

Eyelids shooting open, you don’t wait for hysteria to consume you before thrusting your arms around Jimin, who returns the gesture immediately, as you sob wearily into his shoulder. The thumping of your heart was almost too painful to bear, and you should breathe; but you couldn’t will yourself to do anything but clutch him close, verifying that yes, he was alive and very much breathing.

And as in the dream, Jimin eventually takes to threading his fingers through your tangled strands, brushing them down soothingly as he spills words of comfort; except this time you don’t quite calm down as easily, body still as tense and stiff as ever.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

This time, you don’t hesitate before replying with a big fat lie, “I…don’t remember.”

As if following a cruel pre-written script, as if life was like clockwork rewinding itself over and over again, Jimin speaks the exact same words as he did in the dream; no, nightmare.

The surreal images had imprinted themselves into your mind, flittering through the interstices of all sane thought, and you just knew that it hadn’t been a dream; it had been a premonition, a warning of sorts.

That, was where you came into the picture, and the moment you realize that, the script would get altered and go off course.

Your bed lifts with the absence of weight, and Jimin was up on his feet again, a smile breaking across his chiseled features and making him look every bit as angelic as he was. You didn’t have to think back to the dream to get a sense of what he was going to do next, and sure enough, you were soon four feet above the ground, right on your way to the kitchen.

You don’t protest, and that out-of-character behavior had Jimin raising a questioning eyebrow, but you only bury your face deeper into his chest, inhaling his faint scent of vanilla and lavender, reluctantly unwrapping yourself from his body when he sets you down at the dining table.

Tossing the leftover pizza into the microwave, Jimin takes the seat across from you, tucking his head into his palms as he shamelessly stares at you, frowning at your distracted demeanor.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything.” He says it gently, for he was never one to pry unwarrantedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little shaken,” You confess, hoping the half-truth would appease his concern, “I’m just going to go wash up a bit.”

Scraping the chair noisily against the tiled floor, you all but fled to the bathroom. Your presentiments only ever came in the form of visions lasting less than a minute, never had you had a whole dream spanning an entire night, especially not one where you could feel so vividly and hear the dialogue still ringing in your eardrums. Call it a gut feeling, but you knew this was vastly different from all the other times you had hit the snooze button on Jimin’s ticking timebomb. The rest of your day could take on two vastly different directions; one, the matter gets resolved somehow and you proceed to live happily ever after with Jimin, two, it all ends and you never get to see him ever again.

Either way, decisions had to be made and you didn’t have all the time in the world to do that. Sucking in a long breath, you mull over the plausible options available, back still against the bathroom door.

And it takes you a minute to make up your mind before you step out, meeting Jimin’s worried gaze with a forced chuckle. His eyes don’t leave your frame even as you sat back down.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” A teasing smile from you was all it took to dispel all the tension in his shoulders, and he visibly relaxes. Everything was normal again, and whatever that was bothering you had seemingly disappeared.

“Already did.”

Lips stretching into a full-blown grin and eyes crinkling into the crescents you were so fond of, he flips his phone to shove his lock screen into your face; a blurry photo of you open-mouthed and drooling into his shoulder as he laughs his head off, bliss apparent even through the pixels.

“Oh no! The pizza’s burning!” You chuck out in an attempt to advert his attention away from you while you scramble to wrangle his phone out of his grasp; an attempt that was largely successful.

Frantically typing in the digits of his passcode (not difficult, it was your birthday), you were just about to delete all 30 of your unglamorous pictures from his photo gallery, but Park Jimin had annoyingly fast reflexes and had tackled you to the ground in the blink of an eye.

The phone clatters to your side, forgotten, as Jimin uses your surprise to his advantage and starts tickling you, of all things. And if you had a weak spot, it was tickling.

Your giggles resonates all around the apartment, joy practically bouncing off the walls. By this point, Jimin’s plump lips were dangerously close to yours, and who would you be if you didn’t grab that golden opportunity?

Cocking your head to have your lips meet his in a swift kiss, you take a moment to relish in his astonishment before flipping him over to subject him to the dreaded tickles, knowing full well that it was his weakness as much as it was yours. He was positively howling with laughter, head thrown back and cheeks flushed pink. Of course, it would be such a shame if you didn’t snap a photo of that. So you did, clambering to get to the abandoned phone and taking a selfie with Jimin’s face pointed at an unflattering angle (except nothing is ever unflattering on him), setting it as his new lock screen before he could even protest.

“You’re the worst, Y/N,” He groaned from his sprawled out position on the floor, pouting, “I hate you.”

Your lips widened into a soft smile, glancing at his hands on your waist securing your position on top of his form because he was probably afraid you were going to fall and hurt yourself.

“I love you.”

It had been five months, but neither of you had dropped the ‘l’ word yet, both afraid that the other wouldn’t say it back, but you figured there wasn’t any time better to say it than the present; it just felt fitting to say it there and then, and Jimin apparently shared the same sentiment.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He kept it simple as well, letting the words linger a second longer in the air before pressing a light kiss onto your forehead.

You snag a quick one on his forehead too, after which you pulled him to his feet, “Come on, you’re going to be late for practice.”

And Jimin was moving with urgent haste again, scuttling to gather his things at lightning speed. Soon enough, he was leaning against the doorframe, a slice of pizza dangling from his mouth (because breakfast had been neglected in lieu of wrestling) as he pulled his sneakers on, “Movies tonight at the dorm? The guys are going skating, those idiots. Only Namjoon-hyung actually knows how to skate, so I really don’t know how they’re going to survive.”

You shake your head apologetically, “Can we make it my place instead? I kind of want to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“Mhm, okay,” He pulls you in for a kiss, “Anything’s fine as long as it’s with you.”

“Ew, cheesy.”

“You love it.” Tugging at your left cheek the way he knew you hated, he flashes you another award-winning smile before dashing down the corridor, vanishing from sight.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you let yourself crumple into the quietest of sobs as you got ready for work at an agonizing pace, wistfully hoping for time to slow itself and for this day to never end.

And work wasn’t any less mundane as it had been predicted to be; the hours still ticked by as you served strings of customers and poured endless cups of coffee, but the ineffable worry still stuck stubbornly to the back of your mind, even when you had tried to divert your focus elsewhere. With your irresponsible act five months back, the order the universe was supposed to adhere to had been thrown into disarray, and you fear that the last few months had only been you trying to prolong the inevitable.

Your brooding does nothing to make time pass slower, and soon the day was drawing to a close, and as per the dream, a couple customers were still around as closing time neared.

You send the text a tad bit earlier this time.

heyyy sorry, am held up at work so i’ll b a little late:–( let yourself in, k?

sent to jiMINIe, 9:34pm

Heart twisting at the dramatic selfie he sends in response, you get to cleaning quickly, knowing you had limited time to work with. Whirling around the shop to make sure everything was in order before you locked up and left, you end up hailing a cab; you didn’t want to be late.

Now huddled in the passenger seat, you alternate between catching glimpses at your phone and looking out the window.

9:52pm.

Then the call comes, a little earlier than it should, and you pick up a little too excitedly, phone almost slipping out of your hands.

“Yes, Jimin? Couldn’t stand waiting for 20 more minutes to hear my voice?” Your voice was devoid of the teasing lilt this time, but God knows you tried to keep your voice from cracking.

“Damn, hit the nail right on the head,” His muffled voice was music to your ears, and you cradle the phone closer, thinking that it’ll somehow feel like he was right next to you.

“How was practice?”

“Same old same old, I don’t think I’m even improving,” And there is was again, his self-deprecating voice; the one that makes you long for him to see that he’s too good to be constantly belittling himself.

“Park Jimin, you’re fucking perfect and I love you to the moon and back, so please, please just don’t push yourself too hard,” You sigh into the voice, injecting as much warmth into your voice as was humanely possible.

“I get it, mom,” He teases, and pause, “I love you too, so hurry your ass here before my butt goes numb.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way.”

“See you in a little bit.”

“Love you.”

You hang up, the intense sorrow causing the lump in your throat to swell, and your fingers grip your phone tighter, knuckles growing white and strained.

10:06pm.

The cab rolls into the parking lot, and the driver seems vaguely concerned about your state of anguish, but says nothing as you hand him the fare.

Legs moving all on their own, it takes you four minutes to make your way into the building, alight at the fourth floor, and arrive at the front door. The boys always kept a spare key underneath that dying potted plant next to the doorstep; today hadn’t been an exception. Your fingers soon made contact with the cool metal, and with an odd wave of halcyon, you let yourself in.

The dorm was expectedly empty, you noted with relief, crossing over the large piles of laundry to get to the only room, crammed full of bunk beds and the overpowering smell of air freshener.

Settling into Jimin’s lower bunk, you smile, the edges lined with bitterness and despondency.

The night you had formally met Jimin had been the beginning of the end, your fates had already been written in the stars aligning the night sky; stubbornly cast in stone, but you had simply turned a blind eye, losing yourself in your wishful thinking.

Would you had gone back to retract your actions? No, never, not in this lifetime and not in a million years.

But the universe was cruel that way; they couldn’t have that delicate balance being so easily tipped over by a mere pawn after all. What was meant to happen should have happened, and the lives that should have been lost shouldn’t have been reclaimed so carelessly. Life wasn’t a joke; it was fair. Nothing would come without a price, and often, that price has to be of equal value before a trade-off could be made. Essentially, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; those were the rules.

Your eyes land on the digital clock by the bed.

10:13pm.

And everything falls back into its place as the universe resumes order, and all is right in the world again.

a/n: because park jimin has been wrecking my (nonexistent) bias list, & what better way to celebrate than an angsty fic? also this was written before they released serendipity and i’m just super in awe at how well the lyrics fit?? thank you so much for reading^^ and please let me know what you think (i offer the usual, cookies and a virtual hug!)

#sfwbangtan #btswriters #kreativewritersnet #bts scenarios #bts jimin #bts fanfction #jimin fanfic #jimin scenarios

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richonnejustdesserts · 7 years

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Teacher’s Pet : A Richonne Round Robin Fanfic

A small town sheriff and preschool teacher find love thanks to the cutest little matchmaker around. [RATED: T]

Chapter 6 (written by @lovedmoviesb)

Rick glanced into his rearview mirror, appraising his appearance for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He felt absurd, really; it had been years since he wondered what others thought of his looks, long since passed the time in his life where insecurities commanded his thoughts. He adjusted the sleeves of his blue button-down shirt, wondering if he ought to have worn a tie.

“You got this,” he breathed, smoothing his hair back one last time. Shane’s words were ringing in his ears.

“Be yourself. Just smoother,” his friend had shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Glenn had been slightly more helpful. “She said yes to a date, right? She must like you.”

Rick focused on that thought as he made his way out of the car, padding his way up the front walk to Michonne’s modest brick house, and ringing the doorbell. With a start, he realized he’d left the flower he’d purchased for her in the car. He had half a mind to race back for it when her front door swung open.

“Rick,” she said his name like it was a song, the melody falling from her lovely lips like she enjoyed the sound of it.

“Michonne,” his voice was thick. The sight of her nearly caused him to choke on his own tongue. He had seen plenty of little black dresses in his 40-something years on earth, but never had they caused this reaction. “You look beautiful,” it was so much of an understatement that it might be criminal.

“Thank you,” she smiled gratefully, her head tilting slightly as she glanced down at herself. “Are you sure I’m not overdressed?”

Rick cursed himself for forgoing his tie, but managed to reassure her. “You look perfect.” From the locs twisted artfully into a large bun on the top of her head, to the graceful curves of her body in that dress, to the point of her slinky black shoes, she was a vision.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself, cowboy,” her compliment sent an instant blush racing to his cheeks.

“Just trying to keep up,” he grinned at her.

“Let me just grab my purse,” she spun around, reaching for something out of sight beyond her door. Rick was treated to the sight of the rear of her dress, the straps leaving her back nearly bare until the fabric began again just above her waist. His mouth ran dry. “Ready?” she asked a moment later, resurfacing with her purse.

“Ready,” Rick watched her lock up before offering his arm, leading her down her own driveway. Her smile at the single red rose he gifted her made the flower worth the effort, despite his misgivings about it being too old-fashioned.

“It’s beautiful,” it matched the color of her painted lips. Rick found himself entranced by the sight. Michonne surprised him when she broke the long stem, tucking the blossom into her hair as though it were an ornament. The effect was striking. “Where are we headed?” she asked conversationally, settling into his passenger seat.

“Someone told me you might like art,” he started the car, taking his eyes off her reluctantly. “I think you might have fun tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she leaned back, getting comfortable as he steered them away from the house.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne gripped the stem of her wine glass, attempting to focus on the painting ahead of her. King’s County may not have been the culture capitol of the world, but they gave it their best effort. The event tonight was crowded, couples milling around, clutching half-empty containers of wine and beer. Most of the crowd was congregated near the bar, but a few had made their way into the gallery. Michonne was doing her best to ignore them, staring instead at a rendering of a covered wagon in pastels.

Beside her, Rick nursed his beer, gazing quizzically at the wall in front of them. Michonne hid her smile as she took in his expression; Rick seemed to be a generally kind man, but he couldn’t hide his obvious distaste at the art in front of them.

“Do you like it?” she ventured, sipping her drink.

“It’s nice,” Rick hazarded a smile.

“Really?” Michonne appreciated his effort but was seconds away from laughing. She wondered if his lukewarm passion for art extended beyond the walls of this modest museum. She’d have to take him to a proper gallery one day.

“It…” he paused, taking a swig of his beer. “All of these paintings look the same,” he admitted, scrunching up his face. “I thought there might be something here not from Little House on the Prairie.”

Michonne laughed, the sound echoing off of the concrete floors and drawing attention from nearby spectators. Rick grinned at her, obviously pleased that his joke had landed well. “I think this might be more about the alcohol and less about the art,” she observed, finishing her glass.

“Then let me get you another,” Rick reached for cup.

“I’ll go with you,” she quickly volunteered, reluctant to be parted from him.

“Are you sure?” he looked surprised. “I think there’s another ten pictures of fields of wheat. That one down there even has a cow in it.” His lopsided grin was so endearing that Michonne found herself smiling back widely.

“We can always come back and look at it,” she promised, falling in step beside him.

“I’m sorry about this,” he apologized a few moments later, after both of their drinks had been refreshed. “I thought there might actually be something interesting in here.”

“I think it’s pretty interesting,” she glanced over at him, struck again by how handsome he looked. The navy color of his shirt played well with his eyes.

“You’re a nice person then,” laugh lines creased his face as he chuckled. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I was thinking of taking the kids,” Michonne took a sip to steady her nerves. She was enjoying being around Rick immensely, but the temptation to touch was almost unbearable. His hand hung close to hers, their skin brushing from time to time. Still, he seemed reluctant to hold it. She wondered if she should just bite the bullet and make the first move. “There’s supposed to be a decent children’s section.”

“Really?” this seemed to interest him. Rick’s eyes turned to a sign on the wall, locating the directions. “C’mon.” There was a spark in his eyes now that thrilled her.

“Rick,” Michonne scurried on her heels to keep up with his excited steps. “I’m sure it’s closed.”

“Probably,” he shrugged, smiling mischievously at her.

“Officer Grimes,” she mock gasped, “Are you suggesting we break the rules?”

They came to a stop in front of a roped off section. Rick looked around quickly. “Not break,” he shrugged. “Bend them. You have to test it out for the kids.”

“You’re right,” she nodded solemnly, her tone not matching the amusement on her face. “It has to be good enough for the kids. Judith is a harsh critic.”

“That she is,” his southern twang made Michonne laugh. With a flourish, he stepped over the rope, reaching back to her with his free hand. “C’mon,” he urged.

Laughing, her heart pounding against her chest, Michonne took his hand.

-l-l-l-l-

The light was low in this part of the museum, the colorful patterns of the wall just visible. Rick didn’t mind. He was far too focused on the softness of Michonne’s skin. He wondered what the rest of it felt like, wondered what it would be like to actually hold her. Just the act of holding her hand alone had him excited and nervous all at once.

“This is actually very nice,” Michonne’s voice was low and she stayed close to his side, brushing against him as they walked. “There’s some things in here I think the kids would love.”

They passed several short tables built for finger paints and crayons, and a large, brightly colored sculpture. A square booth off to the side drew Rick’s eye.

“What’s that?” he directed her attention to it, steering them both towards it. Her leg brushed against his and Rick bit down the urge to pull her closer to him.

“I’ve seen these!” Michonne lit up immediately. She set her wine down on the ground, releasing his hand. Disappointed, Rick watched her. “Let me show you,” she coaxed the beer out of his grip, tugging at both of his free hands. Willingly, he followed her.

“It’s tight in here,” it seemed necessary that he say this out loud. Michonne was mere centimeters in front of him, the bare skin of her back begging to be touched.

“It’s for kids,” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder at him. He touched the rose in her hair, amused. “Sit down,” she instructed, pushing against his chest lightly. Rick complied immediately. She lowered herself into his lap, leaning forward to a touch screen in front of them. Rick gripped the seat beneath him, desperately trying to keep his hands to himself.

“What’s this?” he attempted a question, keeping his eyes firmly above her tempting waistline.

“Smile,” she instructed, sitting up straight, leaning back into him with a goofy grin. Rick just managed to imitate her when a flash went off. The touch screen lit up with a photo of the two of them. “Hmmm…” Michonne hummed lowly, shifting in his lap. “What should I draw?”

Rick swallowed thickly, daring to shift himself closer to her under the guise of seeing better. “You’re going to draw on us?”

“Mm-hmm,” she was already tracing her fingers over the screen expertly, lines of red and green appearing. Rick watched amusedly, his hands coming around her waist, holding her lightly. She did not protest. “Voila!” she announced with a flourish a moment later, glancing back at him. Rick laughed immediately.

“Super Mario Bros?” she’d given him a bright red hat and bushy brown mustache to go along with her matching green ensemble. He marveled inwardly at quickly she was able to paint over them.

“I think you make a handsome Mario,” she turned in his lap, looking at him.

“Not as pretty as Luigi,” as funny as her art was, Rick was fully distracted now. His hand was brushing some of the bare skin on her back. He ran his thumb up and down, unable and unwilling to resist her.

She smiled, suddenly shy despite her previous boldness. Her fingers traced up and down his arms. “Want to take another one?” she asked.

“Maybe in a second,” Rick leaned forward, throwing caution to the wind, covering her beautiful mouth with his own.

She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck, moaning lightly beneath his lips. Rick drew her closer, holding her tightly around the waist, slanting his head to deepen their lip lock. She parted her lips beneath his and he seized the opportunity, marveling at her taste like red wine and something he couldn’t identify, but knew he was now addicted to.

He came up for air reluctantly, opening his eyes to see Michonne looking back at him, her dark iris hidden behind her long lashes. She dove back in, pressing her chest into his and Rick responded eagerly, momentarily forgetting where they were. She grasped at his biceps, flattening her palms over the muscles and Rick shifted, lifting her enough to pull her against him. His hands dragged downward, over her smooth, dark skin, toying with the space between the fabric of her dress and her waist. Michonne let out a breathy little gasp that nearly undid Rick completely. He pulled back, unable to keep the smile off his face. She grinned right back, dusting her lips across his cheeks. She went back in for his lips and Rick leaned back, bumping the tablet in front of them. A flash went off, just visible behind his lidded eyes, but it was the unexpected voice that startled them both.

“Hey,” an accent thicker than even Rick’s sent a shock through the canoodling couple, and they jumped apart guiltily. A security guard with an ebony mullet was staring confusedly at them. “You aren’t supposed to be back here.”

“Sorry,” Michonne was quicker than Rick. “We just wanted—“

“A place to kiss, I know. You’re not the first. One time, I caught this pretty little number and her redheaded beau. They were doing more than kissing.” Rick and Michonne stared back at him, half embarrassed, have bemused. “I mean copulating.” The security guard clarified .

“We’ll be heading out now,” Rick did his best to stand up, his pants uncomfortably tight. He guided Michonne behind him, allowing her to straighten out her clothing.

“Don’t forget your pictures,” the security guard flourished two glossy pages as they climbed out, Michonne still clinging to Rick’s hand.

“Thank you,” embarrassed and eager to be alone again with the woman on his arm, Rick seized the pictures and hurried towards the exit.

“Oh my gosh,” Michonne began to laugh as they got out of earshot of the security guard. “I hope he doesn’t tell anyone that he caught us.”

“You know he will,” Rick shook his head. “We’re going to be another couple he caught copulating.” Rick purposefully dialed up his accent. He could honestly not have cared less what the security guard thought.

“Well, not quite copulating,” Michonne’s tone changed. Rick turned back to look at her, pausing near the exit.

“Not quite,” he agreed. He wanted her, badly, and it was clear she felt the same. Still, there was a time and place for everything. He kissed her again, a simple press of the lips, chaste compared to their photo booth make out. “I think we’ve got a few more prairie paintings to look at first.”

She giggled, wiping at his mouth, “Let’s start with the one with the cow.”

-l-l-l-l-

“I had a great time tonight,” Michonne laced her fingers around Rick’s as he walked her up the path to her front door.

“I did too,” he smiled at her, his lips still stained faintly pink from her lipstick. He paused at her front step.

Michonne stared at him for a moment, debating furiously. Part of her wanted to open that door and drag him inside, throw him down and finish what they’d started in the photo booth. The more conservative part of her knew that he would be worth the wait.

“Michonne,” Rick let go of her hand, fiddling instead with the rose in hair that had come loose. “I was wondering, if you aren’t sick of me…”

“Never,” she couldn’t imagine a situation where that would be true.

“Then maybe you’d like to get dinner with me, tomorrow night?” he looked at her hopefully.

Michonne closed the distance between them, brushing her lips over his. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she told him, delighting in his smile.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, reaching into his back pocket. “You should keep these. It’s your art, after all,” he smiled as he pressed the two printed pages into her hands.

It wasn’t until he had wished her goodnight and disappeared in his truck that she chanced a glance at the pictures, laughing at the sight of them rendered like the iconic characters. The second picture caught her off guard. The camera had caught them mid kiss. They were twisted around each other like a couple who could not get enough, like they had forgotten a camera was even there.

“Tomorrow,” Michonne whispered, stepping inside her house, the pictures pressed to her chest.

#author: lahsportsdiary #author: love.devil.movies.baby #richonne #richonne fanfiction #richonne round robin #rjd writing network #rick grimes #michonne #carl grimes #judith grimes #grimes family 2.0 #teacher's pet

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